Eyes of a Man
by reenas-as
Summary: She should have dusted him the moment he set foot in her town. But the look in his eyes... how could a soulless monster have eyes like that? She couldn't kill him until she knew. Set in an alternate Season 2 where Dru dusted in Prague and Spike came to town anyway.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I had this idea sitting for months on my hard drive, and one day in March I decided to dig it out. So I spent an entire day working on an outline (which I almost never do) and it became this epic series rewrite – and I realized that was not at all what I wanted. And so I scrapped the whole thing and wrote this instead… Some events from Season 2 will be mentioned, some will never take place, but there will be very little transcription or rewrites – there may not even be much dialogue of any kind. This is simply a (sometimes melancholy) story about two lonely, confused, people finding love where they least expect it. I hope you enjoy.

And if someday you'd like to see that epic rewrite? Let me know, I haven't deleted the outline ^_^

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

1.

The bar was small, seedy, grungy . . . Not enough lights (not that that'd ever bothered him), too much noise. The smell of alcohol and vomit stung his nostrils. Smell of sweat too. Sweat and vomit and blood.

The bar was small, seedy, grungy . . . and human.

Because you couldn't wallow in true misery in a demon bar. Was like to get a bloke killed.

Spike raised his empty glass and the bartender quickly refilled it without a word having been exchanged. He knew what Spike wanted. Should. Spike had been here . . . well, he couldn't remember how long he'd been here, but it'd been quite some time. God bless twenty-four hour taverns.

He couldn't quite remember how he'd come to be here, the result of one or ten drinks too many, but that was alright with him. The people here spoke something not English – he thought it might be German. He'd been pretty good with German once upon a time, but ever since those damn Nazis had stuck him in that submersible tin can in the forties he'd had a bit of an aversion to it. Tried to avoid the whole damn country whenever possible.

He wasn't sure how he'd come to be here now. But then, he couldn't remember the last time he'd not been drunk and when he was drunk his feet went where they willed without first consulting his head.

Downing his whiskey in a single go he decided it didn't matter. One bar was as good as the next, regardless of what country it was in. And Germany was father to some damn fine brews.

At least he hadn't headed farther north. He hated mid-summer in the northern regions. Too much damn sun, not enough dark. Hell, all of Europe was too far north for a respectable vamp to summer in. He knew they should have gone to Rio, but, no, Dru had insisted on coming to bloody Prague.

A sob attempted to choke him and he quickly secured another whiskey, this time snatching the bottle when the barkeep came close to pour. Abandoning the glass he took a deep swallow straight from the bottle. Time to work on that forgetting.

But alcohol was a damn fickle mistress, especially when one had vamp metabolism, and forgetting apparently wasn't in the cards tonight.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw it.

If only he'd been able to get to her in time. If only she'd listened and not gone out on her own. But no, she'd been laughing and dancing and searching for her "Daddy", as if he hadn't abandoned them gone on eighty years ago now.

Dru's damn daddy. Was his fault, this was, all of it. If he hadn't run off, if he hadn't broken Spike's dark princess in the first place.

Damn Angelus and his bloody mind games. Hell couldn't come for that bastard soon enough.

The longer he sat there the more he stewed on it and the more he wished his grandsire was around so that he could thrash him. Damn Irish bastard never had given them a reason for his disappearance: one day he was trailing after them through China like a lost puppy (never had been right since he'd done in that gypsy girl), the next he was gone without so much as a by-your-leave. At first they thought he was taking a walk-about – he did that occasionally. Darla went so far as to wish him good hunting and speculate that he'd come back his old self.

Only he never came back at all and they never were able to find him. Darla left them not long after that, and good riddance too, but Dru had never been the same. Always missing her daddy.

If Spike could see the berk now he'd have a thing or two to settle with him, starting with a lesson on why you never abandon your childe, especially one you bloody well made damn near completely dependant on you.

Bloody _prick_.

Ought to do it. Ought to track the bastard down and give him what for.

The thought gave Spike a bit of energy. Yeah, that's what he'd do. He'd find Angelus and beat some answers out of him, or some sense into him, whichever. Maybe both if he was lucky. If nothing else he could make the bastard sorry for what he'd done; drown his pain in Angelus' screams as he'd not been able to do in whiskey.

Misery did love company.

~.~.~.~

Divorce sucked.

Not that Buffy Summers had ever been divorced. She'd never even been married. Heck, she'd only ever had one boyfriend. She wasn't too concerned about it, she was only sixteen. Plenty of miles left on her (and wasn't _that_ a wince-worthy phrase); plenty of fish in the sea (and how did that even make sense? Why would she want to date a fish?).

Anyway, back to the point.

Divorce sucked. Divorce meant that even though she hadn't seen her dad since he'd cheated on her mom and forced them to move to Sunnydale six months ago, she was somehow supposed to be perfectly happy to be shipped off to his place in L.A. for the summer. Away from her new friends and her new life, with a father who didn't seem to know what to say to her if he wasn't yelling at her for burning down high school gymnasiums (which so, totally, hadn't been her fault – vampires! Hello?).

Yeah, so much fun.

In fact, the only part of the whole summer that didn't suck was the Absentee-Dad-Guilt inspired clothes shopping. She'd never owned so many pairs of cute shoes in her life.

Oh – and the whole no Hellmouth thing. Buffy Summers had spent an entire summer away from slaying and demons of any kind. That had not sucked at all. Especially considering that the last time she'd dealt with a vampire he'd killed her. Obviously she got better. And she'd killed him too, but, well, trauma all around. It was nice to get away from that. Not that she could talk to anyone about it anyway.

But tomorrow she was going back. Back to her mom who at least tried to talk to her, her friends who loved her but couldn't understand her, and vampires.

The dreams had already started. The slaying package should come with a disclaimer: this product has been known to cause hallucinatory type vivid dreams, which may or may not be prophetic.

Too bad she couldn't return it for a refund. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a week.

Yep, tomorrow she left this place where she mattered to no one and returned to the place where the whole world depended on her – whether they knew it or not.

Her life sucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

2.

Spike was close, he could feel it. Bloody month and a half he'd spent turning over Angelus' old haunts and thrashing his old acquaintances, and all for naught. But today, today that was all going to change. Today was the day he got something on the bastard; he could bloody well taste it.

His break came in a seedy little demon bar in Ireland, home of Angelus and about a hundred thousand other worthless, whoring, bastards over the years. The bar hadn't much to recommend it, didn't even serve real Irish brew, let alone a decent spot of blood, but what it did have was a reputation for being the favored haunt of an old demon who was known for his information acquiring skills. An old demon Spike had heard Angelus speak of back in the day.

He didn't have to lean on the blighter much (just a few cracked ribs and the threat of a broken arm) before the demon told him that _Angel_ (because apparently that's what the Great Git was going by now) was rumored to have been spotted in the United States. What the hell Angelus was doing in the Colonies Spike didn't know, but he wasn't really interested in what Angelus' motives were at the mo', just his whereabouts.

Sadly the demon didn't have any more details. Not even the arm wrenched tight behind his back at an awkward angle could wring more out of him. In the end the stammering demon could only tell Spike that there was a coven in Eastern Europe – out Slovakia way – who might be able to help him out.

It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had yesterday.

~.~.~.~

Coming home was… awkward. She'd hardly written her friends all summer, in part because thinking of them led to thinking of the Master and her death, and partly because thinking of them and her death reminded her of the danger she'd been putting them in all this time letting them get to know the slayer part of her life. She didn't like that; it made her feel like a bad slayer, a bad person.

Of course, it also made her feel like a bad person to blow them off. Which she had been doing since she got home. And even when she was with them she found herself pushing them away, saying things she didn't mean, things that sounded more like Cordelia than her. That didn't make it any easier to stop. Every time she looked at them all she could see was all of them dead at the feet of the Master.

Especially when she realized that her recent Slayer dreams meant that the Master was coming back.

~.~.~.~

Spike had forgotten how much he hated traveling long distances. There were only so many ways a vamp could travel farther than a few hundred miles and not be exposed to the sun. He hated stowing away with the cargo like so much junk. For one thing there was no bloody room to move and Spike was not the sort to sit still. No patience, him. 'Course patience was a virtue and demons hadn't much use for virtues, now did they? Except forced to sit still like this he had far too much time to think. Nothing to do but think for hours and days, first on the boat and now on this bloody train.

The last time he'd traveled like this he had his ripe wicked plum to keep him company. They wiled away the hours in the most delightfully wicked ways. But now he was alone.

He tried not to think about it.

Trouble was he'd spent the last seven weeks not thinking about it, but now, coming back so close to . . . well, coming near-on full circle like this was bringing it all back to mind.

Had to focus on the task at hand. Find Angelus. Make him answer for his crimes against Dru.

It was the only thing that kept him from going mad.

~.~.~.~

She was just so _mad_. Mad at the Master for killing her. Mad at herself for not being stronger. Mad at Giles for making her go. Mad at Angel for finding that stupid prophecy. Mad at her friends for caring too much. Mad at everyone else for caring too little. Mad at the Universe or the Powers or whatever the hell had decided that she win the Slayer lottery two years ago.

Just mad.

And stupid. She felt so stupid for taking it out on everyone around her because it wasn't their fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. That was the problem.

So as she smashed the Master's bones to bits she let all that rage, all that stupid, stupid anger fly apart with them. And when she was finished she felt spent. No longer angry now she was tired. Sad. And she poured that sadness out in tears, bundled securely in Angel's arms, until it was no more. And the next day no one said anything about it. They didn't say anything about her anger, or her stupidity, or her tears. Instead they welcomed her back with open arms and a seat at their table for lunch and she thought that this was why she saved the world every night – for moments like this.

~.~.~.~

It wasn't hard to find the Slovakian coven. It was a little more difficult to convince them that he was worthy of helping – after he managed to convince them that he wasn't going to try to kill them, of course. Unfortunately even after they conceded to assist him there wasn't much they could do. He wasn't exactly carrying a lock of Angelus' hair on his person, or any of the berk's personal effects. Without one or the other a locator spell was apparently right out. They did, however, do a scrying for him. A scrying which sent him here.

Spike had spent a great deal of time since July in bars, demon or otherwise. Rank, filthy, hole-in-the-wall places, most of them were – demons weren't known for their refined tastes and the humans who tended to associate with them weren't much better. This one put the rest to shame. A Star Wars quote came to mind, but he refused to even fully think it. "Wretched hive of scum and villainy" indeed.

Spike took a moment to wish they'd at least told him who he was supposed to be looking for. Eventually he decided to just take a seat and wait. He chose a darkened corner away from the hustle and bustle. Being around this many unwashed humans made his fangs itch and he didn't want to cause a scene and risk missing his man.

He ordered a whiskey, neat.

He was on his fourth when a man in a well-worn cloak joined him. Spike couldn't make out the man's features, shadowed as they were beneath the depths of the cloak's hood. Not that it mattered.

The man reeked of humanity. And magic.

He'd barely settled in the seat across from Spike when he said that he'd heard Spike was looking for Angelus – and he wanted to help. But first he wanted to know why Spike was searching for his Grandsire.

To rip him a new one, that was why. Not that it was any of the bloke's business. He told the man both, and almost threw in a two finger salute for good measure before he remembered that he wanted the bloke's help and refrained.

Never let it be said Spike didn't have self-control. When it suited him.

And it was going to suit him as he rang every last sobbing apology from Angelus.

That put a smile on the bloke's face. No amount of shadow could hide that curl of lips from a vamp's gaze.

Maybe it was the accent, or the fact that Spike's eyes had finally adjusted to the dim and he could make out a bit of the bloke's features, or maybe it was just the fact that the bloke seemed to take so much pleasure in the thought of pain coming Angelus' way, but Spike was beginning to suspect this man might have a bit of the Romany in him. The tribe whose curse had sent Angelus into such depression at the turn of the century? Spike had no way to know, but he hoped so. Gypsies were known to hold a grudge; they were probably more than happy to point an angry Spike in his grandsire's direction.

He would take whatever help he could get.

Which was how he found himself on yet another bloody boat, in yet another bloody cargo hold, headed for Sunnydale, California.

At least the wanker wasn't in L.A. Wouldn't that have been the ultimate conceit? Angelus in Los Angeles. Spike wouldn't have put it past him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Longer chappies start here ^_^

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "Some Assembly Required", 2x02, written by Ty King and directed by Bruce Seth Green, originally broadcast September 22, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire  
Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises,  
20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

3.

Loneliness, Buffy decided, made people do crazy things. Maybe not always crazy things like cutting the heads off of cheerleaders to build a better girlfriend crazy, but crazy things nonetheless. And the cutting the heads off of cheerleaders thing? Apparently that happened too.

Only in Sunnydale.

She couldn't imagine the kind of lonely that spurred you to bring your dead brother back to life a la Frankenstein's monster. The kind of lonely that sent boys digging through graveyards for pieces to create said brother a bride. She couldn't imagine loneliness that desperate. And Buffy Summers knew lonely. She was the Slayer. She'd sacrificed an entire life and had to start all over again at all of fifteen years old. Fortunately this time around she'd found a group of people who knew her burdens and were willing to help shoulder them.

And speaking of the people who kept her from the loneliness crazies…

Friends were all well and good, but sometimes a girl craved companionship of another variety – the boyfriend variety. And since slaying put a serious kibosh on her prospects for a normal guy Buffy was thinking she'd take one of the not-so-normal variety.

Good thing she had one on hand.

Her relationship with Angel seemed to be getting back on track. She was glad he finally 'fessed up to his jealousy over her dancing with Xander when she first got back in town. Which, she admitted, pretty stupid. And mean. She hadn't even been thinking of poor Willow, or even Xander, she'd just wanted to get back at Angel. But her friends had forgiven her and she thought they'd be okay now. Her and Angel too.

Especially her and Angel. No kissage yet, sadly, but he held her hand the other night on patrol! She wasn't sure she was ready for kissage yet anyway. The last time they kissed he'd gone all fang-faced. Not something she wanted to repeat, so she was willing to wait for kissing.

_Dancing_ however, well no harm ever came from a dance or two. Maybe she'd head over to the Bronze and see if Angel was there. It seemed to be his favorite spot, though she liked to think that was just because he knew she could often be found there. It wasn't like she didn't have the time to stop by; the vamps seemed to be keeping a low profile since she foiled their plans to revive the Master. Foiled was a weird word. What did stopping evil plans have to do with aluminum baking wrap? And what had she been doing?

Oh, right. Bronze. Angel. Hopefully dancing, though Angel didn't seem to be big on that. Lurking was more his style.

Actually . . . that was kind of creepy. She'd have to talk to him about that.

Angel, dancing, talking, and maybe, just maybe, a step closer to a kiss. Maybe.

~.~.~.~

Angelus was out when Spike arrived. Thankfully, however, vamps didn't need an invite to another vamp's residence so he made himself at home in his grandsire's flat. He spent the time thinking of all the things he was gonna do to his elder when the other vampire got home. How he was gonna break Angelus' bones one by one until the bastard apologized for every ill he'd ever done his childe. And then he'd break them all once more just for good measure. He was gonna hang the man upside down naked and drip Holy Water from the tips of his toes down to that face he was so soddin' proud of. He was gonna tear out his innards and shove them down his throat. He was gonna cover him with crosses and laugh as he burned, light matches between his toes and watch him squirm. And then, maybe, if he was feeling very generous, he would dust the bastard. Maybe.

Oh he had such plans for the Great Git's torture. Angelus was going to be sorry he'd taught him so well.

And yet, somehow, when Angelus walked through the door gone on eleven all the fight left Spike and he just felt a deep, hollow ache in his gut. Bloody hell! He was not going to cry. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

But seeing his sire's sire like this… it brought the memories back – good, bad, and otherwise, but they were times when his Dru was with him and he'd give anything to have them back again, even the not-so pleasant moments.

Angelus didn't even turn to look at him, not that he needed to, just spoke to the door.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

That was all it took for the dam to break. Spike found himself on his feet and across the room before he could blink.

"What am _I_ doing here? What am I _doing_ here? What do you bloody well think?!"

Angelus seemed unperturbed by his yelling or his presence and it was so like the bastard to be calm and aloof when his selfishness had bloody well near torn someone else's life apart. Bastard.

"You look at me!" Spike demanded, grabbing the other vamp roughly by the collar. "You look me in the eye and you tell me why! Why, dammit?! Why'd you leave us, abandon her? You're all she wanted, all she needed, and you couldn't be bothered to stick around? You fucking _made_ her. She's not some toy you get to throw away when you're tired of playing nurse maid – not that you ever did, mind – she's your _childe_. Your responsibility! You break it, you buy it; you did and then you run off like the no-good bastard you are, and still she goes natterin' on and on about her precious daddy, and – and," he was at a loss for a moment, the words escaping him, but when they came it was an explosion. "And it's all your fault you ruddy bastard."

Spike, near sobbing now, had to release his grandsire to swipe at the moisture running down his cheeks, and Angelus took the opportunity to shoulder past him into the bathroom where he proceeded to strip off his shirt and begin washing his face. Spike, once he had calmed himself enough to see again, watched him agape.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, incredulous. "I just tell you that you've ruined everything, you and your eighty year walk-about, and you're, what? Gettin' ready to kip? You're a bloody vampire. You don't even sleep at night!"

Slowly Angelus turned, dropped the towel he had used to dry his face, and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter, watching Spike.

"You have a problem, Willy?"

Spike hated that moniker, hated it almost as much as he hated the man who'd bestowed it on him, and Angelus knew it. But he wasn't going to rise to the bait. Angelus wasn't going to distract him from the issue at hand.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked. "Why'd you leave her? Maybe if you'd been there…" He shook his head, anger rising once more. "But you weren't. You weren't there. You never are. Broke her to bits for your own bloody amusement and then dumped her on another bloke first chance you got. And not that I minded. Love her. Love caring for her. But dammit, if she hadn't gone looking for you—" A hiccupping sob interrupted his tirade and suddenly Spike's anger seemed to drain from his body, leaving only pain. God, he wasn't made for this, to live like this. He was so fucking tired. "If you hadn't've left, maybe I'd still have her."

"Is that what this is about?" Angelus' tone was hard, cruel, but Spike was used to that. After all Angelus _was_ hard, cruel. Never loved a single person in all his life, before or after he was turned. Or so he was fond of telling people. From what Darla said he wasn't just bragging. Liam had been a right bastard even when he was alive.

"Where is Dru, anyway? Got herself a new nursemaid?" Angelus looked around as though Spike might be hiding Dru somewhere in the room.

Spike didn't even have the energy to growl. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Even if he made Angelus admit his wrongs, made him pay, none of it mattered. It wouldn't bring her back.

"She's dead," he said quietly, "dusted."

It was the first thing that sparked a shred of interest in his grandsire, though why he should care Spike didn't know. Bastard hadn't even felt her go, apparently. Angelus shoved off the bathroom counter and stalked across the room toward Spike, lines of anger etching across his face.

"She's what? What happened!" he demanded. "What did you do?"

At Angelus' accusing tone a small portion of his earlier rage came back to Spike, giving him the backbone to meet his grandsire's eyes.

"You don't get to do that. You don't get to abandon us and then get angry now she's gone." The point of his finger hit the larger vamp's chest so hard it actually drove Angelus back a step. "You don't get to do that."

Angrily Angelus swiped his arm away, pushing forward so that they were nearly face to face.

"You were supposed to take care of her, _William_," he grit out. "It's the only reason I let a sorry excuse for a childe like you live."

"Did, didn't I?" Spike was tearing up again, anger, and guilt, and bone deep sorrow forming a boiling pot of emotion he was hard pressed to contain. It was going to out, in blood or tears – or both. "Did all I could and it was never enough. All she ever wanted was her daddy!"

He lunged forward, aiming a punch for Angelus' jaw, but his tears blinded him and Angelus easily side-stepped the blow. Spike didn't stop. He kept swinging, blindly, until the older vamp finally got him pinned to the wall beside the door, where he continued to struggle in vain, crippled by the force of his sorrow. For a moment he couldn't help but feel a bit like the fledge he used to be, cowed by Angelus again and again, but he told himself it was just because of his grief. Didn't have the heart to fight, not really, or he'd beat Angelus into the ground.

Angelus shook him as much as he was able while pinning him to the wall with an arm at the throat. "What. Happened?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

It wasn't like Angelus to care, but maybe he did have a soft spot for his childe after all, despite all evidence to the contrary. Maybe it was part of that damn Romany curse what made him come over all broody and depressed all those decades ago. For whatever reason when Spike met his grandsire's eyes he could see that the other vamp actually cared.

So he told him. Told him about bloody Prague and that damn mob what had poisoned their girl. Told him how he managed to get her out, but she'd been so weak. She died before he could even figure out what they'd done to her.

When he finished, Angelus, as lifeless and dejected as he, slowly released his hold on Spike's neck. Spike slid to the floor – he hadn't even realized he'd been pinned above it a good foot, but then Angelus was a fair bit taller than he was.

"I, I just…" Angelus stumbled away from him, rubbing at his face as though he could scrub the knowledge away. He sank down onto the edge of the bed.

"Dust?" He shook his head, as though in disbelief.

Spike knew the feeling. There were moments when he could hardly believe his Dark Princess was gone. And there were moments where he knew it, and it was so real that it eclipsed everything else and he just wanted to curl into himself and die – moments he was tempted to meet the next sunrise.

"Get out," Angelus whispered.

And, though it was the last command he ever thought he'd be obeying tonight, Spike did as he asked.

~.~.~.~

Buffy was disappointed to find that Angel was not at the Bronze when she arrived. She spent a few minutes waiting to see if he'd show up before she heard Cordelia complain that he'd come and gone already.

For a moment she considered going home. She had stuff to do. School stuff. Dumb Parent-Teacher Night school stuff that shouldn't even have been on her radar except that that little weasel Snyder had it in for her. Still, the other option was expulsion and that wasn't cool. Slayer or not she apparently had to go to school. Which was stupid, because it wasn't like she was going to live long enough to get a job anyway.

And on _that_ depressing note…

Screw it. She was going to find Angel. Better expelled than so lonely she went crazy, right?

She knew where he lived now. He'd shown her the other night. "In case of emergency," he said. This wasn't exactly an emergency, but she didn't think he'd mind… She'd just come into view of the building when the sight of someone unfamiliar striding away from her maybe-boyfriend's residence brought her up short.

Angel had company? That was kinda weird. He didn't really have any friends that she was aware of.

She probably shouldn't have done it. It was sneaky, and rude, and so not her goal tonight, or any of her business for that matter. None of that stopped her from ducking out of sight behind a column and waiting for the man (because it was definitely a guy – not a huge hulking guy like Angel, or even a tall gangly guy like Xander, this guy was smaller, shorter and maybe the same waist size as Xander, but it was in better proportion to his height so he didn't look scrawny like Xander, and why was she obsessing about this?) to pass her by. Once he had a lead of a good few yards she cautiously emerged to follow him.

Okay, sneaking? So not her strong point. She was more the confrontational type.

Except that she had a feeling confrontation wouldn't get her very far tonight. If she was going to figure out why this guy was at Angel's she needed to figure out who he was and that was going to take some tact. Seeing as she had, like, zero tact (so said her mother) she was going to have to settle for spying instead and hope he dropped some sort of clue. What kind she didn't know, it wasn't like she could wait until he got home and steal his wallet. Besides, she was starting to get the feeling this guy probably didn't have a wallet, or a conventional home. Yep, she was starting to get a distinctly vampy feeling from this guy. Giles might complain about her lack of Slayer sensitivity, and, yes, okay, she wasn't so good at pinpointing her vamp tinglies – she usually didn't need to be, usually she met a guy in a graveyard and, hey! he went all wrinkly in the forehead and she knew. See vamp. Slay vamp. Easy. No vibes required.

That didn't mean she never _felt_ vibes. She'd been working on it a little ever since Angel shocked her by going into vamp face mid-make out; since then she'd gotten pretty good at recognizing the presence of a vampire nearby. And she was definitely getting vamp vibes now. So unless someone else was following their little sneak o'rama train, well-proportioned short-ish guy was a vampire.

She ignored the fact that the realization made her just a little bit sad.

It kinda made sense since the guy had been leaving Angel's apartment. Birds of a feather or whatever. Then again, it kinda didn't make sense at all because she'd never known Angel to hang out with other undead. Heck, he'd dusted his sire for her so she didn't think he was keeping a vampire pal or two around from the old days for sentimental reasons. Which begged the question: if this guy was a vamp and he'd gone to see Angel why didn't Angel dust him?

And when had the guy stopped moving? Because she was suddenly waaaaay closer to him than she meant to be.

"Crap."

The mild expletive escaped on a whisper, completely against her will, and she flinched back, expecting the vampire to turn around and attack her at any moment (because even if he'd somehow managed to miss a _slayer_ less than ten feet from his back, surely he'd heard her, whisper or not).

Only he didn't. He didn't move at all.

She took a cautious shuffling step forward.

Was he broken?

She took two more steps, quietly, cautiously, because this could be some sort of crazy trick – like playing dead, only not as convincing since she was pretty sure nobody stayed upright after they were dead. Unless it was like sleeping. Couldn't some people sleep on their feet? Could you die on your feet too? And this was so not helping with anything.

Anyway, she closed the distance between them nearly by half before the man (vampire, he was a vampire, she was pretty sure – at least 90 percent) reacted and when he did it was not at all what she expected, though it startled her so much she suddenly found her stake clenched in one hand despite the fact that she didn't remember pulling it from her waistband where it had been nestled against the small of her back.

He spread his arms out at his sides as though ready to be nailed to a cross.

She stopped, instinctive adrenaline rush dying out as he remained otherwise motionless, as though attempting to provide her with the easiest possible target.

She dropped her arm, but otherwise didn't move. Didn't speak.

After a silence that seemed to stretch into hours, but surely hadn't been more than a few seconds, the vampire shifted slightly, restless.

"Do it."

The words were spoken so softly she almost didn't hear them and when she managed to figure them out she frowned.

He… he _was_ trying to provide her a good target? What for? Vamps didn't just offer themselves up to the Slayer, no fight, no quips. She couldn't dust him that way, could she? Somehow it felt wrong.

Another shift, a shade too somber to be a bounce, from one foot to the other. He waited a beat and then he turned in a movement so fast she wasn't entirely sure he didn't instantaneously switch from facing away from her to facing her without ever actually turning the one-hundred-eighty degrees required to do so – except that he had to have because, you know, _science_.

The look of sheer desperation on his face nearly floored her – and not just because he was unbelievably _hot_. Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Literally for some girls, she supposed, considering what he was.

"Come on," he pled. "Right here." One arm came in to allow his hand to pat the spot over his dead heart briefly before returning to its outstretched position.

And she didn't move.

Apparently that bothered him because he paced a step closer, eyes holding hers intently. They stayed, locked like that, for immeasurable moments and then he seemed to explode into motion.

"Wha's wrong with you?"

It was almost a shout, or maybe it just seemed that way after so much quiet, and he was pacing agitatedly now, hands waving in the air.

"Wha's wrong with you?" he asked again, desperate once more. "You're the Slayer aren't you? Slayers dust vamps. It's what you do. Well, I'm a vamp. Dust. Me." His clenched fist hit his chest hard on each of the last two words.

His gaze met hers, imploring, and Buffy didn't know what to do. He looked utterly broken, and she just didn't know what to do.

Well, she did know. She was the Slayer, ergo she slayed vampires. And this one was quite literally begging to be dust. She could do it. She _should_ do it.

Except…

She hadn't known a vampire could get so emotional. They were soulless monsters; they didn't feel, they barely even thought. Except that this one so very obviously did. Just the look in his eyes… Even Angel, who had a soul, didn't have eyes like that. They were so deep, so pained, so _human. _What could make a monster hurt so much?

She didn't know, but she couldn't dust him until she found out.

"Please," he said, giving his heart a gentle pat.

It nearly undid her. Deliberately she put her stake away and in response he crumbled. His knees hit the ground and he hung his head, shoulders shaking slightly, and she was pretty sure that was a tear that dripped from the tip of his nose to the ground.

Oh, God, he was _crying_.

Did vampires cry?

She really should have paid more attention in slaying class. Though she doubted Giles would have told her what to do about a crying vampire. Should she . . . comfort him? Somehow she thought the answer to that was a resounding "no".

She hovered uncertainly, not quite looking at the vampire falling apart not more than a few feet from her, but unable to look away. She tried to tell herself that she was working up to end him, but she knew she wasn't. Whoever this vampire was, whatever he had to do with Angel, she didn't want to dust him – not until she got some answers.

And not necessarily to the questions she'd first followed him to ask.

The Vampire's shaking had lessened, which she took to mean that he'd stopped crying, or at least that his tears were winding down. Her theory was confirmed when he looked up at her wearily, only a few lingering tears tracing the well-used tracks down his cheeks and glistening in his too-perfect lashes.

"Are you going to do this or not?" he asked, despondent (ha! Who said she didn't know any SAT words), resigned.

And all she could do was shake her head.

For a moment he looked almost angry – shoulders tensing, jaw stiffening, eyes narrowing – and then, as though anger took too much energy, his shoulders slumped forward once more. He sniffed deeply, as though to stem another flood of tears.

"Right then, whatever."

Pushing clumsily to his feet he left her there, stumbling down the street as she just stared after him.

She never did go see Angel that night. She went home, mind plagued with thoughts of a different vampire altogether.

* * *

And at last they meet ^_^ Not exactly what you were expecting? Yeah, kinda wanted Spike to at least smash in Angel's face, but he wouldn't cooperate... Actually, I don't hate Angel. I don't even hate him with Buffy - in the first two seasons. It's the hanging on and her never growing up and letting go that gets to me. Hope you're all liking it so far and thanks for reading ^_^

reenas-as


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "School Hard", 2x03, written by David Greenwalt and directed by John Kretchmer, originally broadcast September 29, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

4.

There was a part of her that wanted to pretend that the night before had never happened. That she had never seen a man – a vampire – leaving Angel's apartment. That he had never begged her to stake him. And there was a part of her that knew that would be very irresponsible of her. Secrets led to all sorts of badness. Especially when those secrets had to do with vampires. Even hot, apparently suicidal ones. These two parts of her warred it out most of the night and through her morning school preparations.

In the end Responsible-Buffy won out.

Whoever that guy was he clearly knew what she was. She had to find out more about him. Which meant that she had to tell Giles about him.

Research party. Yay.

Everyone was already in the library when she got to school – which was not surprising. They looked up at her expectantly as the door bounced off the wall. Oops . . . slayer strength plus swinging doors equaled bad. She kept forgetting that.

"Sorry."

For a moment Giles had that pained look, the one that said it was far too early to be getting a migraine, but he was fairly sure one was coming. Buffy felt bad, she did, but he should try having super-strength for a while and see how easy it was not to break things built for regular-strength people. It wasn't like she was _born_ like this. She was still getting used to it.

"Buffy," her Watcher said after he'd stopped rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sounded kinda tired. So not fair that the only stable male role-model in her life got tired after being in her presence a grand whopping total of thirty seconds. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this . . . early morning visit?"

"Huh?" Okay, so the library wasn't exactly her favorite place, but her Watcher practically lived here, so it wasn't like she'd been a stranger lately.

"What's wrong?" he asked, point-blank, indicating the dent in the wall left from her entrance.

Oh . . . Right. She'd come in a little . . . panicky maybe? Darn nerves. Now he was going to think something was wrong. Which, okay, technically something was wrong. But it was only a little something wrong and now he was going to think it was a big something wrong, and things were going to get all blown out of proportion. And – why was nothing ever simple in her life?

Slayer. Right. Stupid question.

Sometimes there was nothing to do but just jump in with both feet. Which was a dumb saying, because you couldn't exactly jump in with _one_ foot, now could you? Aaaaaaannnnnnnnnnndddddd – _so_ off topic.

"I ran into this weird vamp last night."

Giles rose from his seat on the table, his look vaguely alarmed.

"And this vampire is still not, err, dust?"

She shook her head.

"What happened, Buffster?" Xander asked, moving to circle her, eyes raking her form, as if looking for hidden injuries. It kinda bugged her, but she didn't say anything. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She pushed past him as gently as possible.

"W-was, he, like, oo! I know, he was a super vamp!" Willow said eagerly.

Buffy shook her head again. "No, he was just a vamp vamp." At least, she thought he was just a vamp vamp. He hadn't looked all weird like the Master and he wasn't a kid like the Anointed One. He maybe had bad fashion sense, now that she thought about it, what with the long black coat and the clunky boots, but it was, like, 1970s bad fashion, not, like, 1770s bad fashion. Although that wasn't really saying much. Angel had updated his wardrobe sometime in the last 200 years after all. Vamps should have to wear a badge. They could say, "I'm a (insert appropriate title: i.e. Master; minion; fledge), ask me how", or something.

Her friends were staring at her.

"And I'm fine, he didn't touch me." He didn't even try.

"Did he run?" Giles asked. "Maybe he recognized you and was unprepared to deal with a slayer?"

"Not exactly," Buffy said, "but he did seem to know I was the Slayer." More like definitely knew, if that little rant about slayers killing vampires was anything to go by, but something kept her from saying that.

"Yes, well, most vampires do have a– a certain . . . sense . . . if you would, that tells them when a slayer is nearby. You do hunt their kind."

"Yeah, but he didn't seem scared or anything. He seemed kinda . . . happy." Happy wasn't the right word. He hadn't been happy that she was the Slayer, but he'd sort of . . . welcomed it, maybe? Recognized her as the instrument of his end and accepted it? She wasn't good enough with words.

"Happy?"

She'd done that all wrong; now Giles had gone from vaguely alarmed to "the apocalypse is nigh" alarmed. She started to correct him, but Giles was already on his way to his office, foraging for books.

"What did this vampire look like, Buffy?"

Maybe corrections could wait for later? It wasn't like Giles was gonna go out and dust the guy. She was the Slayer and he was the Watcher. She slayed and he . . . watched.

"Uh, medium height," she held her hand up about half a foot or a little more above her head, "small-ish build. Blonde hair, blue eyes . . ." She paused, momentarily lost in memories of knife-sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, dark brows . . . "Oh, and he had a scar. Right here." She ran a finger over the outside corner of her left eyebrow. "I didn't know vampires got scars," she muttered to herself.

Giles emerged with a small stack of books and proceeded to hand one each to Willow and Xander, who flipped through them as though they actually had some clue what they were looking for even though she'd told them nothing of importance.

"And did this vampire tell you his name?" Giles asked.

Yeah, right after they sat down to tea together. Vamps didn't generally introduce themselves to her. "We sorta skipped that part."

"Very well then. His origins, his age?" Giles peered at her as she looked more and more confused. "Did he have any minions with him?"

"Uh, no?"

Giles' mouth tightened, a sure sign he was getting frustrated. "Did you not find _anything_ about this vampire?"

"We didn't exactly talk much. We didn't even fight."

Giles speared her with a pointed look. "Surely you noticed _something_."

"Um, he wore a lot of black?" she offered meekly.

Giles sighed.

She felt bad, really, but what could she say? She'd been thrown off by his tortured eyes? Oh, those eyes . . . so deep. So . . . soulful. Eyes like that did not belong on a soulless killer.

"Buffy, I do wish you would take this seriously," Giles scolded.

Buffy tried to look properly chastened, but she was never very good at that. Fortunately Giles rarely noticed and right now he was way too caught up in the beginnings of his lecture (because it was definitely going to be a lecture – Buffy could feel it coming – call it a teenager super power) to notice.

"You remember what Jenny and I told you yesterday about the Feast of St. Vigeous? It is this Saturday and it's entirely possible that this – this newcomer was recruited by the Anointed One to assassinate you."

"Can a vampire really _assassinate_ a slayer?" Xander mused, still flipping absently through the book Giles had handed him. He looked up at Willow. "I mean, slayer, vampires. Killing each other is kinda what they do, right?"

Willow nodded eagerly while Giles rolled his eyes.

"_Yes_, thank you for that helpful insight, Xander. Now if we could return to the matter at hand. As I was saying, it is quite possible that the reason this vampire did not attack you was because he was attempting to otherwise engage you . . . to– to," he waved his hand helplessly as he searched for the correct word and Buffy had to stifle a giggle – it looked like he was stirring an invisible pot sideways. "Well, perhaps he was sent to gauge your weaknesses in preparation for the coming battle."

"Trust me, Giles, Spike doesn't care about the Feast of St. Vigeous."

All present turned toward the new voice only to find Angel coming in from between the stacks.

Angel shrugged, vaulting down to the lower level. "Not that Spike isn't evil. He is. But, well, plans aren't really his style. He doesn't have the patience."

Buffy gaped at Angel. Well, there went any doubt about his knowing mystery vamp.

"Spike, did you say?" Giles began flipping rapidly through his books, frowning. "I am unfamiliar with . . . does he have another name? A proper name, I mean." He looked up at Angel expectantly.

"You probably have him listed as William the Bloody."

The page flipping increased. "William the . . ." Giles stopped suddenly, his head slowly rising to look at Angel with horror-widened eyes. "Good Lord. You're saying this vampire is the Slayer of Slayers."

"What?" Buffy didn't know what a Slayer of Slayers was. Well, she'd never heard it mentioned before. But if a slayer slayed vamps then she had a pretty good idea of what the Slayer of Slayers slayed. Okay. That word had, like, _no_ meaning now . . . repetition did weird things to Buffy brain.

Still . . .

The Slayer of Slayers? That vamp? The one with the true blue eyes that seemed to reveal the depths of a soul vamps weren't supposed to have?

It didn't seem possible. But, then, what did she know about him besides the fact that he was gorgeous and had an accent that could make a girl's knees weak? She was willing to bet that one had no trouble hunting at all. The thought made her shudder – but not for the reasons it should have.

Buffy was brought out of her thoughts by Angel, who had stepped very close to her, though his words were mostly still directed at Giles.

"Look, all I'm saying that if Spike was going to kill Buffy he'd have done it. He's simple like that. I'm pretty sure he didn't even know the Slayer was here."

Well, maybe not _before_, Buffy thought, but he certainly did now. But he'd seemed pretty ready to let her dust him last night. She had a hard time thinking he was going to come after her anytime soon.

Still . . . maybe vampires had mood swings?

Giles was watching Angel speculatively. "You seem to know a great deal about this vampire."

Angel sighed. "He's a part of the house of Aurelius – unfortunately." The last was muttered so low Buffy wasn't sure anyone but her had heard it and she tilted her head to look up at Angel curiously. In the background she could hear the page-flipping resume.

The flipping stopped, faint muttering could be heard and then there was a loud thump. Buffy turned and saw with surprise that Giles, her watcher, had actually dropped his book.

"The Sourge of Europe," he said in a curiously blank tone. He blinked, seemed to begin breathing again, head swiveling back to Angel. "Good Lord, you're his . . . well, grandsire, I suppose would be the appropriate term."

Was there a limit to the number of "good Lord"s a person could use in a day? Because if there was Giles was seriously in danger of reaching it. And why was Angel looking so uncomfortable? Unless it was true – the part about Spike being his grandchilde or whatever. That would explain why he'd been at Angel's apartment, and maybe why Angel hadn't dusted him.

Angel shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah."

"Good Lord," Giles murmured, turning back to his books frantically.

Buffy noticed that Angel didn't mention that Spike had been to see him.

Why _had_ Spike been to see him? Aside from the whole same clan thing. Did that even matter to Vamps? Angel had dusted Darla. And he'd had no problem with letting Buffy face down the Master – either time.

"Uh," Willow broke the quiet reluctantly, "I hate to break this up when, you know, we're at such an important point, but the bell is about to ring. And, and . . ." She looked to Buffy apologetically. "Snyder's kinda still on you about that whole Parent/Teacher Night thing. A-and being late to class isn't gonna earn you any points . . ." she trailed off and Buffy groaned.

"Darn it, I totally forgot about that." She'd like to say it was all the excitement, between St. Vigeous and the new arrival, but honestly she'd forgotten about it before that. Too busy thinking about crazy Frankenstein boys and Angel.

Reluctantly she grabbed her bag and Willow's elbow and steered them toward the doors, Xander hurrying to follow behind.

"You, uh, do the researchy thing on this new guy, Spike, or William, or whoever. We'll catch up later. And Angel—" She turned, but Angel was already gone. She couldn't help but feel a little deflated at that.

"Okay," Xander said, having noticed the brooding vampire's absence as well. "That's it. I'm puttin' a collar with a little bell on that guy."

~.~.~.~

Spike woke up with a headache. It didn't surprise him; he'd drunk himself into a right stupor after his encounter with Angelus and then the little slayer the night before. Damn near drunk himself into oblivion, and he wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't have welcomed it.

Bloody hell, but he'd been a right fool last night, begging the soddin' _Slayer _to end his miserable existence. But when he left Angelus' flat he was dejected. His sire was gone and she wasn't coming back. So maybe it was foolish, but in the wake of his talk with Angelus all he'd wanted was for it all to be over. He'd lost his maker and the love of his unlife; what did he have left to live for? Or exist for at any rate. When he realized the girl was a slayer he thought: what the hell? Death by Slayer had to be better than walking into the sun. 'Least he could go out with a bang.

Only she wouldn't do it. What the hell kind of a slayer refused to kill a vampire?

Come to think on it, what the hell was a slayer doing so close to Angelus' flat? She had to know he was there. Vamp didn't set up residence in the Slayer's territory without her knowing about it.

Not that it made any difference to him. The chit could be sleeping with the old forehead for all he cared. No skin off his nose.

She wasn't sleeping with him though. The nose never lied. If they were sleeping together he'd have smelled it, no matter if it had been a few days.

He refused to acknowledge the bit of relief that crept through his cold dead heart at that realization.

He would admit, however, to some curiosity regarding the relationship between his grandsire and this slayer. Angelus had never been one for hanging about once a slayer came to town. Hell, he wasn't much for demon hot-spots like the Hellmouth – too much competition. Actually, Spike hadn't even realized this was a hellmouth until that afternoon when groggy memories of conversations around him at the demon bar he got sloshed in the night before had finally penetrated his post-drunken haze.

Angelus, a slayer, and a hellmouth.

Might be worth it to stick around and see what was what. Hadn't got anything better to do, and the little slayer intrigued him – nothing had intrigued him since he lost Dru.

And, who knew, maybe he'd convince her to dust him yet.

* * *

A/N: Ta-da! Um... or not, but, yeah, here's the next chapter. Not much Spike, sorry about that, but it's not like he's going away so we'll see more of him.

Thanks for reading ^_^

reenas-as


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This story has been nominated at the Sunnydale Memorial Awards! I'd put in the banner, but I don't even know if that's possible on FF. Nominated for Best New Author, Best AU, Best Drama, and Best WIP. Please vote if you're able and thanks to the lovely reader who nominated me ^_^

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "School Hard", 2x03, written by David Greenwalt and directed by John Kretchmer, originally broadcast September 29, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

5.

Parent Teacher Night was boring. Buffy spent most of the night shuffling her mom around (well, having her friends shuffle her mom around since she was stuck serving refreshments in the entry – and she'd never seen so many people's faces scrunch up like that when drinking lemonade, maybe someone had spiked it when she hadn't been looking?), trying to stay one step ahead of Snyder. And then, even though she'd done everything he asked and he'd promised that he was only going to expel _either_ her or Sheila, not both of them, and she'd done way more than Sheila had (Sheila hadn't even shown up) he still tried to tell her mother she was getting kicked out of school. Fortunately Giles stepped in and disaster was averted. Not that she enjoyed school, but if she managed to push her Slayer expiration date out for a few years she was going to need a high school diploma. She was pretty sure you couldn't even get a job at the Double Meat Palace without a diploma. Well, not unless you were still _in _high school.

Angel showed up for patrol after (though she had a really hard time sneaking out with her mom being all parental over the near expulsion and all). He was strangely cautious and overprotective. Usually he just followed her around and let her do most of the fighting – since it was her sacred calling and all – but tonight he kept darting glances all around and he even tore the head off a newly risen fledge before she could get up off the tombstone she was sitting on. Weird.

She thought it probably had something to do with that new vamp, Spike, but that didn't make much sense considering what he'd told Giles in the library the day before. Which made her wonder if he was lying to her watcher or if he was just being paranoid.

Either way, she wasn't too worried about it. Spike had pretty much begged her to kill him – Slayer of Slayers or not she couldn't see him as a threat. Plus, he'd looked awful, like he hadn't eaten in days, which, for a vamp probably translated into weeks . . . She was kinda glad that it looked like he wasn't feeding. If he was feeding she'd have to stake him and she didn't want to. Not until she figured him out. There was just something in his eyes . . .

She tried to ask Angel about finding Spike leaving his apartment, but Angel was very good at not answering questions – almost as good as he was at lurking and brooding – and she got nothing out of him. It made her wonder if he had something to hide. Which was silly, because of course Angel had something to hide. She was starting to realize that all Angel ever did was hide things. He must have had a really wicked past if he never wanted to talk about it at all. Honestly, she already knew he was a vampire and that he'd only had a soul for the last century, bad kinda went with the territory. Maybe she'd have to look him up sometime. As much as Buffy and research were non-mixy things it could only help her to know a bit more about the vamp who claimed to be her ally. She could look up Spike while she was at it; maybe find out more about this Slayer of Slayers thing.

Yeah, that was seriously sounding like a good idea. She'd get right on that . . . after this whole Feast of St. Vigorous thing was over.

A slayer could only be expected to do so much, right?

~.~.~.~

Spike spent a few nights getting the lay of the land, memorizing the sewer tunnels and the impressive network of tunnels and caves in the area (vamp never knew when he might need to get around during the day). He didn't necessarily make a point of trailing the little Slayer – time enough for that later if the mood struck him – but he did happen across her once or twice. Peaches was following her about, hoverin' all protective like, and Spike found himself wondering once again what the relationship between the two was. Not in the mood for a confrontation, Spike stayed out of his grandsire's range of sense, following for only a few minutes before taking his leave.

He found himself a place. Wasn't high brow, hell, it wasn't even low brow – was a soddin' crypt was what it was, but he could make do. If Drusilla was with him he'd have sprung for something more upscale, maybe set up in one of the many abandoned buildings on the east-side of town. As it was his needs were few; a crypt would do him nicely. Besides, this particular crypt was right above one of those little caverns he'd explored, big enough to set up a comfortable bedroom if he was of a mind to, with access to both the tunnels and the sewer besides.

He'd just settled in for a nice day's sleep (not that he found it easy to fall asleep these days – too used to having a nice cool body beside him) when he felt them moving through the sewers.

Vampires. Maybe a half dozen.

Rolling over on his sarcophagus he seriously considered ignoring them. Easy enough to feign sleep when one was already dead – no heartbeat, no breath. In the end though he decided it would be better to set whoever had sent them straight (minions the lot of them – worthless). He was a Master Vampire, even if he was the youngest on record, and hell if he was going to kow-tow to anybody, let alone some wannabe who sent _minions_ to lay down the law.

He met them on his feet, though he didn't bother to pull on more than a pair of dark jeans.

"William the Bloody?"

They pulled themselves up through the hole he'd made in the floor (he was going to have to get something to cover that – nice slab of concrete should do it). He didn't help them, but he didn't hinder them either. Needed them alive to tell their master to bugger off, didn't he? Though . . . maybe not all of them. He supposed it depended how willing they were to take "no" for an answer – and how much they annoyed him.

"Go by Spike now, mate."

"Spike," the hulking vampire in the lead said with more confidence than a mere minion ever should. "The Master—"

Spike cut him off with a snort. "Master's dead, mate. Felt him dust myself, nigh on four, five months ago now."

"The new Master," the minion ground out, "the Anointed One—"

"Anointed One?" Spike rolled his eyes. These damn vamps and their delusions of grandeur. "An' who exactly was he anointed by? We're not exactly religious."

"The Anointed One, chosen by the Master to lead the Slayer into hell and to bring about his return—"

"Can see how well that turned out for him," Spike interrupted with a grin. Ah, so this wasn't just a hellmouth, it was _the_ Hellmouth. Then this must be where the old bat trapped himself a few decades back. And the place where he met his end – him and Darla. Spike imagined the little Slayer had something to do with that. He'd known he liked that girl.

Made sense they'd send the Slayer here, he supposed. Why they'd never bothered to do it in the past he'd never figured out. Plenty of demons and vamps for a slayer to pick off anywhere and more besides, but a hellmouth, well, seemed to him that on a hellmouth the Slayer might actually make a difference. Someone was trying to start up an apocalypse they'd like as not do it here.

The minion was getting annoyed, Spike could tell, and a part of him almost hoped the worthless fledge would try something, give him an excuse to brawl. He hadn't had a good brawl in ages – not that any of these tossers would be a challenge. Sadly the minion seemed to have a fairly good handle on himself.

"The Anointed One wishes to welcome you to his domain and request that as your first proof of fealty you assist him in the destruction of the Slayer."

To this point Spike had been somewhat amused by the conversation, but upon hearing this last his expression went cold.

"Oi, your 'master' must not have done his homework or he'd know that I don't swear fealty to anyone."

The minions looked taken aback.

"But you are of the Order of Aurelius-"

"Am," Spike conceded. "Never gave any mind to the Order before, don't intend to start now. And speaking of . . . this Anointed One of yours isn't spawn of the Master. If he was I'd've felt it." Hell if some little upstart was going to set himself up as leader of the Order when Angelus and himself were still in line. Not that Spike wanted to be head of anything – never had much use for minions and playing at king. Oh, family had its place, but Spike had had enough of the mockery that was vampire hierarchy. He lived by one rule alone: his own.

"The Anointed One is the child of prophecy," the minion explained in sonorous tones, "spawned in the wake of tragedy, hidden from the eyes of the Slayer, groomed by the Master—"

"Wait," Spike held up a hand, "_child_? This wanker's a child? And a mere fledge at that – not more than six months turned – and you lot follow him?" He laughed. "If this is what the Order is come to I'm glad I put in my resignation years ago."

Now the minion was clearly angry, though he was showing amazing restraint for a mere fledge. Spike was almost impressed. Had potential, this one, or he would have if he'd been turned a childe and not mere canon fodder.

"The Feast of St. Vigeous is tomorrow night. We will use its power to kill the Slayer. As the Slayer of Slayers the Anointed One offers you first blood. What is your answer?"

The minion had moved very close to him. A cold glint came to Spike's eye and he leaned into the minion's face, intimidating. "Sod. Off."

The minion's eyes snapped with anger, but he backed down submissively. "Your loss," he said quietly.

As one the minions turned and made their way back to the sewers.

Spike returned to his make-shift bed once they were gone, but he found he had even more trouble sleeping than usual. Staring at the crypt ceiling he decided it was because of something the minion had said.

They were going to use the power of St. Vigeous to take out the Slayer?

Spike wasn't much for ceremony and tradition. He thought he might have heard of this St. Vigeous thing once before, but he hadn't a bloody clue what it was all about. He didn't much care either. What he did care about was the implication that it would give the Annoying One and his minions a leg up on the Slayer.

Seemed a bit unfair that. A vamp fought a Slayer with fists and fangs – not with mojo. Was wrong. Was a bloody shame too and a disgrace to every vampire who'd ever taken out a slayer – himself especially. He was the only vamp in history to seek slayers out as prey – the only one who hadn't just gotten lucky – and it had made him a master. Damned if he was gonna let some wannabe master and his scabby minions take the girl out due to mystic happenstance.

Course, if he wasn't gonna let it happen that meant he had to somehow stop it. The Slayer of Slayers stopping a slayer from getting killed? It was laughable. Not only that, he hadn't the vaguest notion how to go about it. He couldn't just come out and tell the chit; she'd never believe him, especially if she had Angelus at her side whisperin' nasties in her ear. Besides, he couldn't have it get out to the demon world that he'd leant her a hand. They might think he'd gone soft.

And he hadn't gone soft. He was just defending his title. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't want to see the little slayer dead. And if it did it was only because she couldn't die before he'd had the chance to figure her out.

Slayer deserved to go out in a real battle, if nothing else – as a warrior.

And he was gonna see to it she got he chance.

~.~.~.~

When Buffy awoke Saturday morning, well . . . morning-ish (what, it wasn't a school day! And she had better reason than most teenagers to sleep in) she almost didn't notice the envelope tucked under her bedroom door. Frowning she picked it up and saw that the envelope was blank save for her name scrawled in old-fashioned script across the center. Well that ruled out it being something from yesterday's mail.

Curious, Buffy pried the envelope open – nearly receiving a paper cut in the process – and unfolded the single sheet inside.

Her eyes went wide and she decided an early meeting with Giles might be a good idea. He was probably at the school library already, anyway, scouring his books for anything he could find on the Feast of St. Vigorous, or whatever. They hadn't yet figured out what, exactly, was supposed to happen today, but all signs indicated it was of the bad.

When she got to the school she found Giles and Jenny (their computer teacher and Giles' girlfriend) deep in discussion about something or other. They shut up when they noticed her, but it was pretty obvious it was about the badness that was today. She didn't really care – she already knew what badness was coming. Or, at least, some of it.

"Giles, look."

She held out the note without preamble and Giles reached to take it from her cautiously. He read it twice before looking up to her with solemn eyes.

"Buffy, where did you get this?"

Buffy shrugged. "Dunno. Mom said she found it sticking out from under the welcome mat this morning." And thank God she hadn't read the thing. Wouldn't that have been a disaster?

"Yes, well, if this is correct. . . Buffy. . . the Anointed One—"

"Is going to use some sort of power-up from this Feast thingy to send his goons after me today. Yeah. Read it."

"Power up?" Jenny leaned over to study the page. She looked up at Giles. "Didn't we read something about the power of an eclipse or something like that?" Jenny immediately turned to her computer and began typing – no doubt searching for something on the internet. Buffy was even less computer savvy than she was book savvy, so she ignored the older woman.

"Look," Buffy told her Watcher, "I don't know who sent this, and I don't know if it's true, but it's a better lead than you've managed to dig up in all your musty old books. And I don't see why someone would lie to me about this anyway."

"Quite right, it's only—"

"I can check with Angel, if you want," Buffy interrupted. "Maybe the note even came from him."

Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose. "That might be wise, yes."

"Give it here." She reached for the paper. "I'll go find him."

"Find who?" A familiar voice queried from behind them.

"Or maybe he'll find us." Buffy plastered a falsely perky smile on her face and turned to greet her not-quite-boyfriend. "Hi, Angel, you didn't happen to be lurking around my front porch last night and leave me a creepy note, did ya?"

Angel looked at her with confusion. "Why would I do that?"

Buffy nearly rolled her eyes. Because Angel didn't lurk or anything. Although, to be fair, he usually delivered his cryptic messages in person. Plus – invitation and thorough knowledge of the inside of her bedroom and how to get to it – not like he would have needed to leave the note for her mother to find. Not that she could say any of that in front of her Watcher. He still didn't know about Angel's all-access pass to her home, and she had a feeling he wouldn't approve – soul or not.

Angel, who had moved down to join them on the main floor of the library, pulled the note from her Watcher's hand and frowned down at the very pretty writing in a way that told Buffy he might recognize it. Actually, he looked kind of annoyed. Maybe because someone had beaten him to the cryptic punch?

Angel folded the note sharply and tossed it in the garbage without so much as asking her first. "I think it's safe to trust it," he said, though he didn't seem too happy about it. "At least it can't hurt."

Giles was watching him speculatively. "You're quite sure?"

Angel growled, actually _growled_, causing Giles to start slightly. Angel usually tried to keep his vampiric nature firmly in check around them (well, except for that whole silently appearing and disappearing thing). "No, I'm not sure. But it's all we've got."

"Oh!" Jenny's exclamation interrupted whatever Giles might have said in answer, as she swiveled towards them. "I found it. The Feast of St. Vigeous is held every year on October 4th. It commemorates the 'crusade' led by the vampire Saint Vigeous through middle eastern locations such as Edessa and Harran, destroying everything in his path. Some vampires believe that during the Night of Saint Vigeous their power will reach a peak. During the three nights preceding the Night of Saint Vigeous, vampires prepare by fasting, partaking in self-mortification and reciting chantings in order to reach the Night of Saint Vigeous in a nearly berserker state." She looked up solemnly. "If the Anointed One and his minions don't attack you today, I'd be surprised."

"I can't believe that little runt is still alive," Buffy complained of the vampire child she'd willingly followed to her own death last May.

"Yes," Giles agreed. "And that he has somehow managed to convince the remaining members of the Aurelian clan to follow a mere child who is, essentially, still only a fledgling." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Quite remarkable."

"Not really," Angel said. "The Master's direct lineage, Darla, Dru, Spike and myself, we're pretty, uh, down to earth. Well, not Dru so much . . ."

Buffy wondered who Dru was and why he looked so pained when he spoke of her. And also why it didn't bother her as much as she would have thought considering that just the other day they'd been holding hands in the cemetery and she'd been thinking about kissing him.

"Anyway," Angel continued, "we're not into most of the mystic stuff, but the Order as a whole is very superstitious. It's why we four broke away actually."

"Yes, well, superstition or not, a pack of nearly feral vampires attacking all at once . . . Well, Buffy, it might be wiser for you to stay at home tonight."

Buffy looked at his in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? And leave a pack of feral vamps to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting town? Who are you and what have you done with my Watcher?"

"Yes, well. Be that as it may, Buffy, I've already watched you die once. I'd thought not to do it again quite so . . . soon." Giles sighed wearily and Buffy suddenly felt bad for him. Yeah, okay, so she'd gotten the short stick in the lottery of life, but Giles' wasn't much better. It had to suck to be told to go train a girl and help her fight evil and know that just about the time you got attached she was gonna die.

"Giles, I'll be careful. And Angel will come with me, won't you?" She turned to the vampire, chipper.

"Uh, yeah. I can do that. I was going to do that," he added hastily when all three parties in the room leveled him looks in varied degrees of warning.

"Well that settles it then," Buffy swung her feet and launched herself off the table she was sitting on to stand in the center of the library floor. "Angel and I will go out tonight. Somewhere dead. Oops, I mean empty and far from any houses or anything."

"Shady Rest is on the outskirts of town," Angel suggested.

"Shady Rest then." Buffy smiled brightly at him and if it was maybe a little forced she hoped no one noticed. "Angel and I will meet at Shady Rest just after sundown. The Anointed One and his minions will come to get me thinking they're going to surprise me out on patrol and we'll dust them. Piece of cake." She frowned, distracted. "Why do people say that? Cake's pretty hard to make, isn't it? And, yeah, tasty, but even if doing something is easy that doesn't mean you like it, does it? Who comes up with this stuff?"

She left the library for home (being in school any day was miserable, but on the weekend? She so was not hanging around of her own free will), muttering to herself all the while. Behind her she thought she might have heard a woeful plea from Giles.

"Lord save us all."


	6. Chapter 6

Posting a little early because I'm gone tomorrow...

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "Inca Mummy Girl", 2x04, written by Matt Kiene and Joe Reinkemeyer and directed by  
Ellen Pressman, originally broadcast October 06, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do  
not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar  
Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

6.

Spike had a fair idea that even with his little warning the Slayer would still come out to play hard ball that night. She was a slayer, wasn't she? Slayers were warriors – they didn't run. Still, he'd given her the heads up, which should at least give her a chance to take the runt and his crew of delusional misfits on, yeah? Might be fun to watch actually.

Which was the only reason he found himself out just after sunset trawling the streets of Sunnydale for any sign of the Slayer and his grandsire, or, barring that, the little brat and his cronies as they were bound to come across the Slayer sooner or later. It wasn't at all because he was worried about the chit. Nope. Not even a little. Curious, that was all. Girl was a right fine fighter, if still a bit unpolished. She lived a few more years and she'd by bloody spectacular. He'd love to see her at work against a dozen or so vamps at once.

Turned out it was more like two dozen – and wasn't that just unsportsmanlike? Two dozen blokes and they still waited for some soddin' magic night when they thought their powers would be at their height? And it looked as though they'd gotten themselves all worked up too. All demon, they were, not a single spark of intellect in their eyes (though minions didn't generally have much o' that anyway). Like to work to their disadvantage as not.

The Slayer was waiting for them in a cemetery in a remote part of town. Smart girl, that one, keep the innocents and their distractions far away. As he'd suspected his grandsire was with her. Looked as though they'd brought a bloody arsenal with them, and good job that. They were gonna need it. Couldn't be worrying about retrieving stakes with so many opponents on hand.

She waited until they were fairly close before she attacked – no doubt not wanting to put them off by letting them know the game was up too soon – and then she let loose with crossbows in both hands, dusting two minions right at the get go. Was a thing of beauty it was. The others charged her in roaring fury, too blind to realize that she was beyond ready for them. Then the fight began in earnest.

It was just the sort of brawl Spike adored and it took all he had to keep from joining the fray. Wouldn't do to give himself away. He tucked himself deeper into the shadows, pulling his coat around him, and settled in to enjoy the show.

The Almighty Forehead was holding his own, of course, but it was the little slayer he couldn't keep his eyes from. Bloody poetry in motion that girl was, barely pausing for breath as she whirled from one vamp to the next driving her stake home with unerring accuracy. When there were only a handful of vamps left standing (himself and Peaches not included) the kills came slower, but no less masterfully. Now there was some real fighting, kicks and punches and blocks. Made him hard just watching. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hard. Nothing seemed to stir his interest with his Dark Princess gone.

All too soon the fight was over. Spike felt a moment of triumph (though hell if he knew what for, not as though he'd done much, just warned the chit – though he was right glad he had) and then he realized he'd probably be wise to take his leave. With their senses on full alert from the battle there was no telling when the Slayer and the Poofter would cotton to his presence. He ran for home, keeping to the shadows and the rooftops just in case the Slayer was hunting for stragglers.

This one merited watching. Wanted to see what a girl like her could become.

~.~.~.~

Thanks to the "anonymous" note she'd received (and Buffy was still pretty sure Angel knew exactly who had sent it, but no amount of pestering had convinced him to tell her, so she finally gave up trying) the Night of St. Vigeous Grand Battle Royale was a breeze. Well, maybe not a breeze. There were a lot of vampires out tonight, and they'd all been a little – no, a lot – crazed. Jenny wasn't kidding about that working up into a frenzy thing. Still, they were prepared and she was no worse for wear save a couple scratches, which was more than could be said for her opponents who now covered the ground in a coat of dust so thick it looked like someone had an uber-huge bonfire in the cemetery. Sadly the Anointed One and his big stupid sidekick got away. Oh well, wasn't like the little brat could do much with no one left to order around. She'd get to him eventually.

"So, nice work out, huh?" she asked Angel. He was still scanning the area warily. She was pretty sure there weren't any more minions coming, but it was kinda nice that he was being so careful. She supposed. "Do you think we should try to find the Anointed One and his body guard tonight?" she asked. "'Cause I'm kinda beat, you know?" Angel, staring into the bushes, ignored her. "Right," she said, though he obviously wasn't listening. "Let's try something else. So," she raised her voice, "good fight, huh? Thanks, by the way. Couldn't have done it without you. We should do it again sometime. Say. . . tomorrow? We can go stake the kid and the big guy before they have time to—"

"Gotta go," Angel said abruptly, and with a whirl of his leather coat he stalked off into the night.

Buffy watched him go, jaw dropped. "Okay, then. . . guess not…" She looked around the empty cemetery, more than a little put out. "I'll just walk myself home then," she said to the emptiness. Some almost-boyfriend he was turning out to be. Though he did just help save her life, or at least help keep her from dying, so maybe she'd cut him some slack. Maybe.

Buffy turned and wandered off into the night already thinking about a hot shower and her nice warm bed. Vampires turning to ash was all well and good for body disposal, but it left her coated in a layer of gritty grime that was just. . . ewww. She picked up her pace, eager to wash the evidence of the night's battle from her skin. Right after she checked in with her watcher, of course. The last thing she wanted was a panicky Giles calling her house in the middle of the night and clueing her mother in to what was going on. That way lay badness, as she already knew. She was not going back to the Looney Bin, nuh uh.

Come to think of it, maybe she'd hit up a payphone on the way home. That was a very good idea.

~.~.~.~

Spike had just returned to the crypt he'd staked out in Restfield when he felt the presence of family not far away. Since there was only one member of his family left (besides himself, of course) that meant Angelus had come to call. Wasn't difficult to suss out how the Great Git had found him. Shoulda stayed farther out of range earlier, but he couldn't seem to keep from watching, even when it became clear the girl was holding her own.

The door to the crypt burst open and two heavy thumps sounded from the direction of the single sarcophagus in the room. Unwillingly his eyes moved toward the sound. On the cement slab laid two clear plastic bags filled with what was unmistakably blood. He looked to his grandsire in question.

Angelus shrugged, a quick jerk of the shoulders, and then said roughly, "If you're gonna stay in my town you'll be bagging it. No hunting. Got it?"

Spike wandered over and picked up the bags, fingering them thoughtfully. What the hell, he didn't really have the heart to go hunting anyway. Too many memories of times with Dru. Raising the first bag to his face he vamped just long enough to tear a hole in one corner with his fangs. He sucked down a good mouthful and nearly gagged. He wiped his mouth wishing for some bourbon or JD to wash the godawful taste away. "Eck. Pig Swill." He grimaced. "Couldn't you at least have nicked somethin' from the hospital?"

Angelus gave him a pointed look and he subsided. Didn't have the energy to fight with the Great Git. His earlier exhilaration from watching the battle was almost gone. Seemed the only time he felt alive anymore was when the little slayer was near. Now there was a point to ponder – but after he'd got rid of his grandsire.

And speaking of his grandsire, the Great Git was speaking again. "You'd better get used to it if you plan on sticking around, Spike," the elder vampire warned.

Down to that he thought his grandsire might have a point. He better have since the little slayer intrigued him and he highly doubted snacking on the townies would endear him to her. He nodded his acquiescence.

Angelus didn't press for more, surprisingly, and turned back toward the door.

"You're really letting me stay?" Spike asked, surprised. He'd expected at least a bit more swagger and bluster. Maybe a threat or two.

Angelus turned his head just slightly, peering at Spike with a sideways glance. "I don't know why you're still here, and I'm not going to pretend I like it, but you saved Buffy tonight. I figure that earns you some leeway."

Bollocks. Right, shoulda figured Angelus'd recognize his hand writing. Hadn't meant for it to out so soon. Maybe never. He wondered if the Great Forehead had told the girl and her little pals. He doubted it. Angelus never told anyone anything that wasn't to his direct advantage.

Angelus suddenly turned and stalked back a pace, pointing a warning finger at Spike. "But if you ever change your mind and come after her I'll stake your sorry ass myself."

Ah, now here was the threat he'd been waiting for.

"Not looking for trouble," Spike said sullenly, keeping his eyes averted.

And Angelus actually believed him! Not that he was lying, but Angelus never believed anyone, certainly not him. They'd not always had the best history, them. Never much liked one another. 'Parrently his little note had gained him more leeway than he'd thought. Maybe it was a good thing the Great Git had caught him out after all.

"And Spike?" Angelus said, calmer now. "Do something with this place if you're gonna stay. A sarcophagus hardly qualifies as furniture and bagged blood need refrigeration."

Spike couldn't help the bit of smile that stole across his face at that. Who knew the Great Git had it in him to care? Was hardly his style. Must be part of that gypsy whammy – Spike still needed to suss out what exactly they'd done to the older vamp – and maybe the git was still feeling some guilt over Dru as well. By the time he got control of himself and looked up with lips set in a grim line Angelus was already gone.

"Stay out of trouble, Spike!" Angelus called, already halfway across the cemetery. And Spike thought he just might. Not 'cause o' his grandsire's order, of course, but he'd like to stick around a while and that meant lying low. A slayer, his grandsire, and the Hellmouth. None of which had made a move to kill him yet. What was more: an adrenaline rush, a hard on, and an actual smile (small though it might have been). Spike settled back on his sarcophagus feeling more himself than he had in months. No, he wasn't planning on leaving this little burg any time soon.

He reached over and picked up his blood bags, gulping them down in the hopes that the flavor wouldn't linger on his tongue if he got them down fast enough. Never thought he'd see the day he'd be drinking bagged animal blood. He was the Big Bad, he took what he wanted when he wanted and paid no mind. He wasn't accustomed to self restraint. But it was a small price to pay for a piece of his unlife back. A small price indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

7.

Darn Xander and his knack for attracting every she-demon in a twenty mile radius. First the bug teacher and now a South American mummy? She hadn't even known the South Americans made mummies. And what was with the crazy cursing and the soul sucking? Something must have been seriously wiggy with their embalming fluids if mummies were rising from the dead left and right. What was even creepier was that Xander actually wanted to know if they could save the girl. She was, like, a five thousand year old _corpse_. And, okay, so technically she'd done some corpse kissing herself not so long ago, but vampires were eternally young and beautiful (at least they were if they'd been turned at a decent age and, uh . . . physical condition). Mummy girl had been all wrinkle and decay with a pretty girl overlay. She shuddered just to think of it.

Although. . . she wondered for a moment if mummies could still have souls. Inca chic seemed pretty torn up about trying to life-suck Xander. Almost like she really liked him. The look in her eyes kinda reminded Buffy of the look in Spike's when he begged her to dust him. She'd have to ask Giles, but she was kinda starting to think the Council might not really know what the what was when it came to this whole soul/emotion link. Some humans seemed pretty heartless, right? And they all had souls. So maybe some soulless demons could be not heartless – they did still have hearts, even if some of them didn't still beat.

There was a sound behind her and Buffy turned to find a newly risen vamp shuffling behind her. Fledges didn't seem to be able to tell that she was the Slayer like older vamps could, or maybe they were just too hungry to care. He rushed her and she slipped him a quick stake. Usually she liked to draw things out, maybe get a little quipy, but tonight she had other things on her mind.

Like the Anointed One. He was still out there somewhere, but he was lying low again, him and his big stupid bodyguard – the little rat. She knew she and Angel should have chased them that night at Shady Rest, but the opportunity was lost now. Oh well, you lived you learned, she supposed. And if you didn't learn you died. At least in Sunnydale.

Buffy made her way to the next cemetery – her third of the night. Sunnydale had something like twelve cemeteries (big surprise – it was on a freakin' _hellmouth_), all large and full of graves. Fortunately she could usually get away with just checking the ones with recent burials. Tonight that left her with five, which wasn't bad. She arrived at Restfield and found no disturbed graves, which meant she'd have to sit and wait for a while to see if there were any later bloomers. Too bad the undead didn't forward her their schedules; it would seriously help her social life.

Not that she had much of one recently. She hadn't seen Angel since the Night of Vigorousness, or whatever, when they'd fought of the Anointed One and his minions. Apparently he was revisiting his "hi, honey, you're in grave danger, bye" stage, and it was seriously annoying her. How was she ever supposed to know if he was The One if he never stuck around long enough for them to have a decent conversation? It was always "Oh, Buffy, you're in danger," or "Oh, Buffy, you shouldn't do that". He never just hung out with her. And she seriously needed to start doing that research she'd been thinking about. She needed to know more about Angel and about Spike.

And speaking of Spike – she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since the night he arrived in town (at least, she assumed the night she ran into him outside Angel's apartment was the night he arrived in town). Clearly he was giving his Slayer of Slayers persona a much needed rest and as long as he wasn't out killing people she supposed he wasn't her problem. Still, she really wanted to know what was up with him and his emotions that appeared to encompass more than: argh, kill, drink, maim, anger, hate. She supposed she could ask Angel about him, but somehow she didn't think that would go over well. Also . . . biased much? Yeah . . . Angel had serious Spike issues in more ways than one and she wasn't sure she wanted his opinion prejudicing hers.

And, ooo! Big word. Wouldn't Giles be proud? If, you know, she hadn't been using the word in terms of deciding why not to accept Angel's opinions on a potentially soulless killer. Well, a definitely soulless killer. Just because he possibly wasn't killing now (and she didn't know that he wasn't, he could just be really good at keeping a low profile, which would certainly explain how he'd survived for so long – because she did know he'd been around since sometime in the late 1800s) didn't mean he'd never killed. He'd killed _slayers_, which would be her watcher's biggest flip-out.

Buffy's musing were interrupted by the sound of moving earth. Darn it. Looked like Mr. Bartley's neck trauma had been vampire related after all. She'd so been hoping this one was an _actual_ dog attack. And, really, why did people keep buying that stupid story anyway? If there was a pack of vicious man-eating (or at least man-maiming) dogs running around town didn't they think someone would have seen them by now? People could be so blind.

"Um, excuse me?" Buffy stood over the emerging baby-vamp, arms crossed against her chest. "Do you think you could speed this up a bit? I've still got two more cemeteries to hit tonight and it's difficult to drive a stake all the way through your heart from the top of your head. Think you could just sort of. . . wiggle your left shoulder out?" She looked at the stake in her hand speculatively. It was one Giles made so it was pretty slender and longer than most. "An inch or two should do it, I think."

The rising vamp just growled at her.

"Right, well, I'll just wait here then. Take your time." She rolled her eyes. The undead were so inconsiderate. "Or," she got a speculative gleam in her eye as an idea came to her, "here, I'll give you a hand." She reached down and took his head in both hand, trying to pull him from the loose earth. On a particularly hard tug she found herself tumbling backwards, butt hitting the cold ground with a hard plop as she overbalanced at the sudden disappearance of her counterweight as the vamp's head twisted clean off and both head and body turned to dust.

"Huh," she grunted, rising and brushing off the seat of her pants. "I did not know you could do that." She grimaced. She didn't think she'd be doing it again any time soon either if she could help it. Twisting off heads was just so. . . gross. She sighed, pulling the list Giles had made for her out of her back pocket. That was the only one for this cemetery. Already tired and bored she drug her feet as she headed off to the next cemetery on the list where she would be on the look out for three new risers. Hopefully at least one of them would give her an actual work out. If they couldn't have the decency to stay dead they could at least be interesting.

As Buffy left Restfield she stopped to look over her shoulder. Nothing but shadows. Weird. She'd had the strangest feeling all night that someone was watching her, but she'd yet to catch anyone at it. Actually, she'd been having that special tingly feeling for a couple of weeks now – it was seriously stating to wig her out.

Shaking the feeling off she continued her rounds. Probably just paranoia. Who would be out wandering cemeteries at night besides the Chosen One? At least, who that wouldn't also attempt to eat her and promptly be made all dusty? Only Angel and she was kinda hoping they were past the creepy stalker stage of their relationship. Maybe she'd ask him – if she ever saw him again for longer than ten seconds.

Buffy huffed off into the night, once again irritated at her prospective undead boyfriend.

Creepy jerk.

~.~.~.~

Spike shadowed Buffy as she made her rounds of Sunnydale's cemeteries as had become his habit since the night of St. Vigeous. The Big Brooding Forehead hadn't been out with her, which was a relief. He told himself it was only because he had less chance of getting caught this way. That and he still wasn't too fond of the git, leeway or not. What other reason could he possibly have to want to keep his grandsire away from the Slayer? Still hadn't figured out why the Slayer was paling around with a vamp – and one with a history as bad as Angelus' at that. Though he suspected it was all about that soddin' gypsy curse.

He'd finally managed to sneak in and have a look at her watcher's books (school library was a bloody stupid place to house all those – was a _public_ school, any demon could get in and have a look-see, or more). Seemed those gypsies had gone and cursed old Angelus with a soul. And apparently not his own from what Spike could gather. Seemed to him the soul of Liam O'Conner wouldn't have been much of a curse on a vamp; from what Darla always said Liam was a bogtrotting, womanizing, drunk, not much better as a human than as a soulless demon. Not that the borrowed soul had done much more than make the git brood. He'd hung on with them for a good ten years after he got the thing, still killin' and all. And then he'd apparently spent the next ninety years living in sewers feeding off rats. Pathetic. Books had him in New York. Spike wondered if Angelus'd been there when he offed that black slayer.

At any rate _Angel_, as he now insisted on being called, was on a redemption kick now or some such, which probably explained why the Slayer and her lot had taken him in.

And speaking of her lot . . . Angelus hadn't been tagging after the girl of late, but her little pals had tried a time or two. Mostly they just got in the way, and he could see the girl's frustration each time they did so, though she seemed reluctant to tell them off. Shouldn't have to, in his opinion. He didn't understand how they couldn't seem to see that they were a liability when the Slayer was on the hunt. It was all well and good to have friends to go home to, he supposed (though he'd never heard of a slayer with friends and family before), but out here they only got in the way.

Though they certainly gave her something to fight for. Something to live for. He wondered if that was what made her so different from the other slayers he'd known. And he had known some slayers. Wasn't called the Slayer of Slayers for nothing. Aside from the two he'd killed there were a few he'd shadowed but who had been offed by some lucky fledge before he could decide if they were worth his time – which, of course, meant they hadn't been. Both of the Slayers he'd taken out had been in their prime.

This one wasn't quite there yet, though she was probably already at the level of the first one he'd done in. It wasn't that she wasn't good, it was just that he saw the potential in her to be so much better. He thought again that with a little more experience and maturity on her this girl would be something to see.

She twisted the head of an emerging fledge and he grinned as she fell on her arse with a startled exclamation. The execution had been lousy – she clearly hadn't expected it – which just went to show how right he was.

Give her time to learn her body, to learn what it could do? Oh, yeah, a few more years and this one would be a force the Devil himself would fear to reckon with. Probably should have disturbed him that that turned him on, but he was a demon – didn't exactly have any dainty little moral hang-ups now did he?

It still amazed him that anything could turn him on at all.

Oh, but she did. All that power and strength wrapped up in that deceptively tiny package. And her spirit – the girl had fire. Like the perfect blend of the Chinese girl and the Black siren. His perfect slayer. And he didn't even want to off her.

Was sick, was wrong, was bloody ridiculous . . . and absolutely true.

Was probably a phase. He was off his game since his paramour and maker had left him, dust on the wind. He'd get over it some day, when the pain had faded. Of course he would.

Maybe not until the next slayer though.

The thought of another demon having their one good day with his slayer made his demon growl. Well that was just fine then. Didn't want to kill 'er, didn't want anyone else to do it. What was he supposed to do? Wait around until she died of natural causes? Not bloody likely! Besides, in order for her to live to die of some silly human thing like disease or old age someone would have to keep the baddies from taking a bite out of her. Too much to hope her friends could manage it and Angelus was certainly doing a bang up job, what with not even being around at all – and Spike certainly wasn't going to do it.

Soddin' demon and its possessiveness.

Happily another fledge chose that moment to rise and he was momentarily distracted by the sight of the petite blond slayer having it out with the bloke. Must have had some sort of fighting training when he was alive because he lasted longer than fifteen seconds, but the poor sod was still no match for her. He was already dust and he was too stupid to realize it. Gave the girl a chance to get a few good quips in though, and, God, she was a crack and a half. Sharp wit that one. If he wasn't going to have a go at her on the battlefield it could be fun to have a go at a verbal sparring session.

That was providing the Great Forehead had passed along the news of his stake-free pass to the girl, which he wasn't entirely confident of. Did the girl even know he was bagging it? Now that he wasn't looking to actively end his unlife he wasn't too keen on testing the theory. Especially if he wasn't going to try to kill her. Damn difficult to fight someone who was trying to kill you when you weren't willing to return the favor – not that he'd often had cause to test the theory. It was only when Drusilla had an especially violent fit that he ever had to worry about it – and Dru was far less breakable than any human, slayer or no.

The Slayer was off again and he hurried to follow. The one thing he knew for certain in his currently unstable unlife was that this girl was special. She intrigued him and he was gonna keep at this until he sussed out why. Wasn't as though he didn't have the time.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "Reptile Boy", 2x05, written and directed by David Greenwalt, originally broadcast October 13, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

8.

Buffy decided to give this thing with Angel one last go. Clearly there was something between them, but if it was never going to pan out she had better things to spend her time on. She was young. She had prospects. She had a blue eyed, soulful, soulless vampire to figure out, for one thing. If she ever saw him again. She was pretty sure he was still around, but he was keeping a low profile. Which meant that he probably wasn't killing, or feeding at all, actually, and the possibility intrigued her to no end.

So. One more chance at this thing with Angel and if he wasn't game she was throwing in the towel. She didn't have time to decipher two Vamp/Man mysteries, and, frankly, the paradox that was Spike seemed more interesting than whatever secrets brooding and cryptic might be hiding. Besides, slayer, vampire, it probably wasn't a good idea. In fact, the only reason she was even considering it was that Willow was all yay! with the living vicariously through Buffy's love life – and right now she wasn't providing much vicarious action

And it was just coffee anyway. It wasn't like they were going to date or anything. Because slayers didn't date the undead. At least, she didn't think they did. She hadn't read the handbook and Giles had never really said.

Conveniently Angel chose that night to show up on patrol once more. Maybe it was fate?

Apparently there was blood on the bracelet she'd found the other day. Well, she found it in a cemetery in Sunnydale, land of the mouth of Hell, so color her _not_ surprised. She moved right past that and on to more important matters.

She breathed deeply, calming herself. She could so do this. She could ask him out for coffee. He was just a guy. And a vampire. And, like two hundred and twenty-something years older than her. But he was just a guy.

She sighed. "I-I was . . . just thinking, wouldn't it be funny some time to see each other when it wasn't a blood thing?" She smiled, but it was short lived as she realized what she'd said. Funny? How exactly would it be funny? "Not funny ha, ha," she quickly explained.

Angel looked down at her skeptically. And, wow, had he always been that tall? "What are you saying, you wanna have a date?"

"No."

"You don't wanna have a date?"

Buffy was flustered. Why did he have to use the D-word? Didn't he know how hard this was for her? And, God, he was the guy. Shouldn't he be asking her out? "Who said 'date'? I-I-I never said 'date'."

Angel was understandably unconvinced. "Right. You just wanna have coffee or something."

Buffy perked up hopefully. Now this was on the right track. "Coffee?"

Angel looked pained. "I knew this was gonna happen."

"What? What do you think is happening?" Angel had that look again. The same one Giles wore so often. The one that said "I'm an adult, and you're just a child, and so you're not going to understand and we'd all be better off if you didn't ask and just did as I say."

"You're sixteen years old. I'm two hundred and forty-one."

Buffy scowled. "I've done the math." And, like, not five minutes ago even. She knew he was way older than she was.

"You don't know what you're doing, you don't know what you want . . ."

The patronizing thing was really starting to irritate her. No, she couldn't possibly know what she wanted. She was only sixteen and it wasn't like as the Slayer she was probably going to die in a year or two anyway. Her life was more than half over; shouldn't she be allowed to make some of her own decision?

"Oh no, I think I do. I want out of this conversation." She moved to pass him by, angry.

Angel deliberately put himself in her path, bumping up against her. "Listen, if we date you and I both know one thing's gonna lead to another."

One thing was going to lead to another? Like what? Like vamping mid-kiss? Yeah, been there got that memo. And how dare he say that to her like she was some hormone addled bimbo who couldn't control herself when he was the one stealing kisses in bedrooms and getting all pushy protective! "One thing already has led to another. You think it's a little late to be reading me a warning label?"

"I'm just trying to protect you. This could get outta control."

"Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer. She drew in a startled breath. He was so close. And so not happy.

"This isn't some fairy tale," he said harshly. "When I kiss you, you don't wake up from a deep sleep and live happily ever after."

Buffy felt tears pooling in her eyes. "No. When you kiss me I wanna die." She didn't give him time to respond, pulling free and running away. Screw patrol, she was going home. She was going to go home and tear all the pages out of her diary that even mentioned tall, dark, and patronizing.

Well, at least that solved the mystery of where that relationship was going. Clearly it wasn't. And if he was going to be like that she wasn't sure she wanted it to anyway.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt.

~.~.~.~

She hadn't actually had any interest in attending the Crestwood College Delta Beta whatever fraternity party when Cordelia's crush's friend had invited her the day before. She didn't really have an interest now either, even if Cordelia was trying to butter her up (and, ewww, where did these disgusting phrases come from?) and sounding like she'd just die if Buffy didn't agree to go with her. And why would some stupid college boys care if Buffy Summers attended their little party?

But it wasn't as though she had anything better to do now that she and Angel were definitely not going to become an item. Not that they would have been an item, per se, because Angel was all about a low-profile, but they weren't going to be a _thing_, and she so wasn't thinking about Angel anymore. Not ever again!

Before she realized what she was doing she agreed to go with Cordelia that night.

She almost took it back when she realized what she'd said. But then she decided: why not? That guy, Tom, was it? had been kinda cute. And he'd treated her like an equal, unlike some guys she knew. She'd go to this party and she'd have fun and maybe even find a new guy to not date, and that would show Angel. Not that this was about showing Angel, because she so didn't care what Angel thought. It was about being a teenager. About letting go and having a life for once. That was all it was. And if Tom happened to come along with that package, well, everyone had their cross to bear and she would cheerfully bear hers.

Willow and Xander were slightly wigged and probably a little jealous.

By the time she'd lied to Giles and dealt with Cordelia's "instructions" for the night she almost regretted her decision. When she got inside and realized the only refreshments available seemed to be twenty-seven varieties of booze? She definitely did. But she couldn't exactly back out now. Besides, it might not be so bad. Tom was around here somewhere, and he seemed really nice.

She set off in search of him.

~.~.~.~

Spike snubbed his freshly lit ciggy as the little slayer emerged from her house, grateful for the enormous tree that allowed him to remain hidden from her view. Pulling his signature leather duster closer around his tight frame (to reduce noise, naturally – wasn't as though he felt the cold) he stalked into the night after her, careful to keep a good fifty yards between them.

It hadn't taken him long to suss out where the Slayer lived. Follow a girl on the hunt a few nights it wasn't hard to just follow her home. There were a few times he thought she'd sniffed him out, but she never did more than cast a wary glance over her shoulder. Watcher needed to work on that with her if she was going to live to realize her full potential.

Spike was prepared to follow the girl through town, melting into the shadows as he always did so as to remain unseen. Town like this wasn't likely the coppers were out this late – not if they knew what was good for 'em – but there was always the chance his grandsire was lurking about, and he had a feeling if the great brooding one caught him at this little game he'd lose his free pass. To Spike's surprise the girl didn't turn toward any of Sunnyhell's numerous cemeteries. In fact, she didn't even get off the block. Instead, at the end of the road, she got into a car with another teenaged girl. Curious he decided to tag along.

It was hardly a bother to follow after them even with them in a car. Vamp speed and all. He raced along the rooftops when he could and through the trees when he couldn't. God bless the Southern California suburbs and their persistent need to pretend they didn't live on the edge of the sodding desert. All that cover.

He stopped short as the car slammed into a parking space (and damn near another vehicle – bloody teenaged drivers) along the curb.

Slayer was going to a party.

And not just a party, no, Slayer was going to a _frat_ party from the looks of it. The sort where booze ran like water and many a young thing was bound to enter womanhood before the night was up. What was his Slayer doing in a place like this? Not that the girl didn't deserve the occasional night out, but she was innocent as the pure driven snow – could see it in the way she moved, the way she looked at that boy of hers, and even his wanker of a grandsire. Girl had no idea what blokes were capable of.

He decided to stick close. Purely out of boredom, of course. If she wasn't going to patrol he needed something else to do and the party promised free booze. He straightened his duster, smoothed back his gelled locks, and headed inside with a confident swagger sure to ward off any questions as to his right to be there. He was more than a little out of place what with his borderline punk rocker look, not to mention he had a good few years on any of these morons, even discounting his century plus as a vamp.

He snatched up a beer, a well placed glare silencing the objection of the git holding the tray.

He leaned against the wall in a corner, scanning the room over the brim of his bright red plastic cup, searching out a familiar blond head. When he didn't find her after a few moments he became concerned. He took a sniff, but there were too many jumbled scents, too much sweat and blood and other fluids, for him to tell anything other than the fact that she had been there – which he already knew. He threw a quick glance at the stairs and was just debating heading up when he noticed the Slayer's boy wandering about. No reason for the Whelp to recognize him as they'd never officially met, but he thought it best to remain unnoticed anyway. He slunk back into what shadow he could find.

If Spike looked out of place the boy was more so. And this was the sort of party where high school girls were welcome and boys decidedly not. It was only a matter of time before someone cottoned and put the boy paid.

He didn't quite expect them to put the boy in drag, wig and all, before they kicked him out on his arse. Was right funny though. It'd been a long time since he had himself a good laugh.

It occurred to him then that he'd been there a good thirty minutes and had yet to see hide or hair of the little slayer's head. Cracking his neck he began to make the rounds. Girl had to be here someplace, though what exactly he was going to do once he found her he didn't know. Watch, he guessed. Could be good for a few laughs. And if any blokes got handsy, well he should be able to handle that without the Slayer being any the wiser. Well placed flash of fang could do wonders even on drunk frat boys.

He circled through the entire house, including the upstairs, before he realized she wasn't there. Something uncomfortable caught in his chest, a bit like panic, he thought, though of course he wasn't panicked over the Slayer's apparent absence. Girl probably just ran off home. Wasn't her sort of place after all. And even if she hadn't, it really wasn't any of his business.

He paced, agitated, trying to decide what to do and finally decided to leave. He was bored with this scene and if the Slayer wasn't here there was no reason for him to be either.

That was when he heard the screaming. Distant, muffled, indistinct, but feminine and definitely out of place at a frat party. It wasn't any of his business. And it wasn't like he cared. No conscience, right? Except that experience said that if something went wrong in Sunnydale the Slayer would be right in the middle of it. And slayers didn't fight humans, they fought Big Bads. If one of these blokes had decided to have his fun one way or the other would she use her full strength on him?

He was pushing his way through the crowd before he even realized he'd made his decision.

They were in the basement. And he couldn't find an entrance from the inside.

He practically ran toward the exterior doors, not a few innocent bystanders being tossed aside in his hurry. The entrance was farther from the building than he'd thought. The little cluster of buildings must have a shared basement. He'd only just sorted which direction the screams were coming from when he realized he sensed something other than human from the underground. Someone was summoning a beastie. Nasty one too. Surprisingly the realization brought with it relief. The girl could handle herself against beasties, nasty or not. Might not managed it without collateral damage, but he hardly cared about that.

Still, couldn't hurt to check it out. Maybe lend a hand.

Only as he started toward the entrance he realized that the cavalry had already arrived. The Watcher, the redhead, even the whelp still in drag. And his grandsire. He pulled up short. If he got any closer Angelus'd sense him. And then he'd want to know why Spike was following the Slayer again and Spike didn't have a reasonable explanation. Hell, _he_ didn't know why he was following the girl, except that she intrigued him, and he doubted that would be an acceptable answer.

He slunk back into the shadows to watch.

What did he think he was doing anyway? The Big Bad riding in to save the day? And did he honestly think the Slayer would thank him for that? She probably didn't even know that he was still in town. Good way to get a stake in the back, this was. And when exactly had he stopped longing for that? About the time he'd taken up trailing the Slayer night after night, he supposed.

None of that stopped him from lingering to see that she made it out alright.

~.~.~.~

Okay, Tom was a total creep. And summoning icky snake demons? So not of the good. Were these guys freaking psycho? People did not just summon demons in fraternity basements and feed them high school girls. And for what? Money? Seriously, who did that?

Tom, apparently. Tom and Cordelia's precious Richard Anderson.

Could her life get any suckier?

Of course, she totally had it under control, even before everyone she knew came rushing in to save her. And nice to know that even though she wasn't good enough to date Angel was still willing to come help rescue her. Of course they'd probably had to drag him kicking and screaming. After a rousing round of save the damsels, kill the snake, send the stupid evil boys to the slammer, Buffy and her team regrouped outside the frat house.

Angel was distant, Willow was weepy, Giles was apologetic, and Xander was . . . in drag? So not going to ponder that one.

After apologizing to Giles for her lie and also the drink she had at the party (though why she was telling him that she didn't know, he wasn't her father) she took his arm and let him walk with her up the stairs and out into the open quad where the others were waiting. Angel had apparently already left with Tom in tow, and Willow, Xander, and Cordelia were discussing going to the Bronze. Giles patted her hand and encouraged her to go out and relax after her challenging evening. And wasn't that the understatement of the week.

Buffy was just about to agree when she got that prickling sensation that had become so familiar over the last several weeks. She was being watched. Only this time she was pretty sure she was picking up vamp tinglies as well. Somewhat familiar vamp tinglies. She couldn't connect the feeling with a name, but she realized now that it had been there, just on her periphery, for weeks now. In fact it first showed up around the same time as her "I'm being watched" pricklies.

A vamp following her and not harming her? Either he was one of the Annoying Ones new minions sent to spy on her, or . . .

"Buffy, you coming? Much fun and Bronzing to be had," Xander said as he realized Buffy wasn't keeping up with them.

"Um, I'll . . . I gotta do something real quick. I'll just be a second."

"O-kay." Her friend looked confused. "You want us to wait?" His gaze darted between Buffy and their increasingly distant party.

"No, that's fine. I'll catch up." Buffy forced a wide grin. "Slayer speed, remember?"

Xander still seemed uncertain, but he nodded hesitantly. "Alright, we'll, uh, catch you at the Bronze then."

"Yep," she said perkily, popping the 'P'.

And then Xander was gone and Buffy was alone. Well, nearly alone, which was kinda the point. She was careful to maintain a relaxed stance.

"Spike?" she called out. She waited with a patience she never knew she had, and a few moments later there was a deliberate rustling from the nearby brush. And then he was there, standing before her, all bleached hair and too-blue eyes.

Okay, he was majorly hot when he wasn't wasting away to nothing. And clearly eating something – though she hoped not some_one – _since he was all with the healthy looking now. Was there a way to tell if a vamp was hunting or bagging it? She didn't suppose she could just ask and she'd never really paid attention with Angel. She hadn't exactly done a compare and contrast essay on Angel versus other vamps. Usually she staked vamps before she could learn much about them.

For a long time they just stared at one another.

She couldn't think of anything to say. Oh, there were a thousand things she wanted to know, but they weren't the sort of things a girl could just come out and ask. Which reminded her, she never had done that research she'd been meaning to do. She'd have to get on that soon.

At length she simply turned and walked away. If he wanted to hurt her he'd had plenty of opportunity. Hello, he'd been in town for weeks (apparently) and following her. He'd had plenty of opportunity to observe her fighting style. Clearly killing her was not on his agenda. At least not at present.

For some reason she wasn't at all surprised when he fell into step beside her. They walked in silence all the way to her house on Revelo Drive and it was surprisingly comfortable. He walked her to the bottom of the driveway and then watched her walk to the front door, and then he was gone; it was like he'd just melted into the shadows. She wondered if that was how Angel did it.

She should be wigged out – he knew where she lived now. But those eyes . . . And it wasn't like he could get in without an invite anyway – though maybe she should say something to her mom just in case . . .

Not once did it occur to her that he hadn't so much been following her as he'd been walking beside her. And he hadn't hesitated on a single turn.

She never did make it to the Bronze that night, too wrapped up in thoughts of a vamp with blue-eyed windows to a soul that shouldn't be there. The Slayer of Slayers who had yet to lay a single finger on her.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

9.

"So, what would you say if I told you that I think Spike is still in Sunnydale?" Buffy posed the question casually to Willow in the library after school one day while they waited for Giles to get back from his staff meeting. It must be hard, having two jobs like that, Buffy realized for the first time.

Will sputtered, spewing her fresh sip of juice out of her mouth and all over the both of them. Buffy grimaced. Well, that answered that question.

Of course, Willow, being Willow, had to do it with words as well. "Buffy, what, how, I . . . Spike? As in William the Bloody? As in the Slayer of Slayers?" She looked around furtively as though he might be lurking in some corner. "Why would you even say that?" she whispered urgently.

Buffy sighed. Well, no way around it now. She shrugged, trying to play this off as no big deal, because, really, it wasn't of the big. At all. Well, maybe a little. But not in a scary, creepy, "the end of the world is nigh" way. "Oh, you know . . . I might have seen him around once or twice. While I was patrolling."

"Buffy!" Willow gripped her arm tightly enough it would have hurt if she wasn't the slayer. She tried to loosen the other girl's grip unobtrusively. "Do you think he's studying you? Oh my God! He's studying how you fight so that he can kill you!"

Sure. Only not. And it kinda seemed like maybe he was hanging around in case she got in trouble. To save her. Which was, of course, ridiculous, because vampires didn't save slayers. Heck, even Angel usually only dropped by to give her cryptic warnings. The Slayer of Slayers was hardly going to step in to join the good fight. Even if his eyes did portray a depth of emotion that went against everything she'd been taught a vampire was capable of.

"Willow!" she finally shouted, shouted because Willow's voice had risen to a frantic pitch and it was the only way Buffy could even hope to be heard. "Willow," she said at a more normal volume once her friend stopped babbling to stare at her with wide eyes. "I really don't think that's it. He was probably just on his way somewhere." Like on his way from the cemetery she'd just finished patrolling to the cemetery she was planning to patrol next, but she couldn't tell Willow that. She shouldn't have mentioned it at all. Very, very bad idea. Except that she'd kinda been hoping for an ally. Someone to scope out the books with because she was so not research-girl.

Willow was staring at her suspiciously, lips pressed in a tight line. "You're sure it was him?"

"Spike? Yeah. I mean, his hair is pretty much radioactive."

"And you didn't stake him?"

"It's not as though he attacked me, Wills."

"But he's a vampire."

"Yeah. I know." And that was the problem. He was a vampire, but he wasn't doing very vampire-like things. Maybe he'd been cursed with a soul like Angel? That would explain why he wasn't killing her, or (apparently) feeding, and why Angel hadn't staked him. Except that didn't seem quite right for some reason.

Willow wasn't paying attention to her anymore, she was peering quizzically up at the book shelves. "Was that Angel?" they shy redhead asked, almost to herself.

Belatedly Buffy realized she had indeed been feeling familiar vamp tingles up until just a moment before. Crap. He must have heard what she'd said about Spike. She pushed to her feet. She had to go find him before he did something stupid, like stake Spike before she could figure out what the bleached vamp's deal was.

Willow was watching her uncertainly.

"Uh, I've gotta go. Tell Giles I'll be back, 'kay?" Buffy hurried from the room intent on catching the vampire before he got too far away for her to track him by feel. She really needed to pay more attention when Giles tried to teach her this stuff. She totally sucked at the vamp tracking tinglies.

Unfortunately by the time she got outside she couldn't sense the vampire anywhere. Darn it! Training. Next time she was so going to pay more attention. Annoyed she gave up and headed back inside. Oh well, if Angel hadn't dusted Spike already he probably wouldn't now. It wasn't as though Angel wouldn't have known Spike was around all this time. And, anyway, she was bound to see the brooding vamp again eventually if only for him to deliver another dire warning. She could talk to him then.

When she got back to the library all she did was shake her head at a questioning Willow, indicating her lack of success. The two girls sat in silence until Giles returned. Buffy tried very hard to pay attention during training, but her mind kept drifting back to Angel and Spike. There had better not be any dusting before she had a word with them. She was the Slayer, darn it, she got to decided who got dusty and who stayed undead. Angel just better remember that.

~.~.~.~

Spike was just waking for the evening (God bless fall and its early twilight) when he felt the presence of his Grandsire approaching full-tilt. God, sometimes he hated his unlife. What did the Great Git want now? Was keeping all the rules, wasn't he. Hadn't fed, hadn't even nicked any blood from the hospital. Choking down pig swill like a good lad he was.

Buggering Grandsire and his bloody hero complex. Though the bossiness had little to do with the soul, he knew. Ponce had been just as bossy in the bad old days.

He didn't knock, of course. Why should he? Not like he'd ever given Spike a lick of respect.

"Oi!" the British vamp protested as a matter of principle. "Ever heard of knocking?" He pulled himself upright and fished up his duster from the end of the sarcophagus, digging about the pockets for a fag and his lighter. Angelus didn't move while Spike lit up and took a long drag. Spike rather thought that was a bad sign considering how angry he seemed. Bloody passive aggressive it was. Dangerous. As he didn't intend to get dusted at the moment he resolved to be wary. Didn't mean he was going to be polite though. "So, what's got your knickers in a twist, Peaches? Haven't been feeding if that's what you're on about."

Angelus' fist clenched convulsively.

"You need to stay away from Buffy."

Oh, ho! So that's what this was about. If he didn't know better he'd think the Great Git was jealous. No reason to be, of course, he hadn't even spoken to the chit since his first night in town. Still, he didn't see any reason he couldn't have a bit of fun with this.

"Do I?" His scarred brow, the one he'd got off the Chinese slayer, hitched upward. "I'd say that's up to the girl, innit? And she doesn't seem to mind." He smirked around his cigarette.

"This isn't funny, Spike. You keep away from her or—"

Spike jumped to his feet, but kept his distance. "Or what? You'll dust me? Didn't know you were the girl's keeper. Not that you've ever been much good at that, have you?" he snarled, reminded again of how Angelus had failed his beloved Dru.

Angelus flinched, clearly catching the direction of his thoughts, but didn't retreat. "Why are you still in Sunnydale, Spike?" he asked instead.

Spike scrambled for an answer. Well, an answer that wouldn't lead to more unwanted questions. He quickly settled on the obvious. "'S a hellmouth, innit? Not too hard to imagine why I'd be here." He scowled and decided to risk another shot. "Not as though I have anything better to do, now is it?" He was surprised to realize that he didn't quite feel all the pain he was projecting, but Angelus seemed to take it hard. Well, good. Let him. If that soul was going to marinate him in guilt let some of it be for the dark princess he'd ruined and abandoned. Spike sank back down on his stone coffin, took another studied drag, blew out the smoke. "Thought you'd relinquished all claim to the girl anyway. Somethin' about things getting out of control and wanting to protect her?" He sneered. "Nice to know you're not a completely selfish twonk. Too bad it came on too late."

Angelus looked as though he'd taken a punch to the gut, whether for the reminder of his failure as a sire, or the knowledge that Spike had overheard what was meant to be a private conversation. Whatever the reason Spike was glad of it. More pleased still when his grandsire's mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish several times before he turned around and left the crypt without another word.

Too. Bloody. Right. What right did that wanker have to storm in here and tell him where he could and could not lurk? None. And so long as he wasn't hurting anyone it would stay that way. Could follow the little slayer all he liked. She didn't seem to have issue with it. Caught him out right and proper and not said a cross word about it. Hellmouth was her territory not the poofter's. And Spike was gonna make sure the git knew it.

~.~.~.~

She'd been patrolling almost an hour when he showed up. She was a little disappointed that it was Angel and not Spike who chose to join her tonight. Why that was she didn't even want to begin to examine. Probably had something to do with the fact that she was still miffed at Angel for the other week and his patronizing lecture. Might also have something to do with the way he'd been spying on her this afternoon in the library and had stalked off without a word.

And she might be the tiniest bit worried about Spike. Just a little. Which reminded her – she had a bone to pick with him. Angel that was, not Spike. And what did bone picking have to do with anything anyway? Seriously, it was like whoever came up with these sayings spoke a completely different language.

For a moment he just stood there, watching her, an unfathomable look in his eyes and she felt herself growing hopeful. Maybe this wasn't about any of that. Better yet, maybe he'd changed his mind. The way he was watching her was so . . . intense. Maybe he'd decided it was worth the risk.

Then, of course, he had to go and open his mouth and remind her of all the reasons she was mad at him.

"We need to talk about Spike."

Huh, funny, she'd been thinking that just a little bit ago. And, not that she was relieved or anything, but the blond vamp probably wasn't dust if Angel felt the need to talk to her about him. Unfortunately she was sensing another patronizing lecture coming on. God, didn't she have Giles for that?

"Do we?"

He stalked closer, his black leather coat catching a bit on the wind. She couldn't help thinking that Spike's long coat looked cooler.

"He's been following you."

Buffy nodded slowly. "Aware."

Angel scowled. "He's bad news, Buffy. You need to be more careful."

Buffy folded her arms across her chest, suddenly beyond irritated. How many times did they have to play this game? She was a big girl; she could take care of herself. Which he seemed perfectly content to let her do most of the time. Why not now? It was almost as if he was jealous, which was just ridiculous.

"Do I? So, tell me, Angel, if Spike is so dangerous why haven't you dusted him yourself? Clearly you knew he was still in town."

"I, he, we . . . he's family." Angel spluttered.

"And that gives him a free pass? It didn't for Darla." Maybe it was cruel to remind him of how he'd dusted his sire for her. Right now she didn't really care. She wanted answers and she was going to get them. Starting with an explanation for his weird behavior. "Is he eating people?"

"What?"

"Is. He. Eating. People?" Buffy spoke very slowly, as if addressing someone with a mental handicap. "You know: grr, argh, chomp."

Angel hesitated, seemed to struggle within himself, and then his shoulders sagged. "No."

"Then I say again: he can't be too much trouble if you haven't staked him yourself." She made to stride past the vampire and he caught her arm. She pulled roughly away, glaring at him balefully, but didn't leave.

"He's still a vampire, Buffy."

"So are you," she shot back, angry.

"I'm different. I have a soul."

"And you both don't kill and follow me around leaving cryptic warnings. So far I'm not seeing much of a difference!" She paused, remembering her earlier speculation. "He doesn't have a soul? You're sure?"

"No, he doesn't. I'd be able to smell it, to feel it."

She furrowed her brow, confused. Why would a vampire who didn't have a soul stop feeding? How could he carry such sorrow within him? He felt so deeply, she knew he did. She'd seen it. How could a soulless monster have such expressive eyes? "But then why, how . . . ?"

"Why what?"

She shook her head, coming back to herself. "Never mind."

"Buffy," he said warningly, reaching for her again.

Buffy shrugged him off angrily. "No. If you can't tell me what's wrong, then . . . then, just leave me alone. It's my life and you're too 'dangerous' to be in it, apparently, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself!"

"Buffy, you don't understand."

She whirled on him, emotions getting the better of her. "Oh, I understand. I understand that you don't want to be with me, but you think you can control who else I hang out with. If you don't want to be in my life then you don't get a say in who is!"

"Buffy, I don't, I want— what I want has nothing to do with this. You deserve something better than a monster. You deserve a normal life."

Buffy snorted, recalling her attempt at having a normal life when she first came to Sunnydale. It didn't stopped the monsters from coming after her. And, Willow and Xander aside, normal people just seemed to get in the way. More people to get hurt, as Cordy could now attest. All she said to Angel was: "Like that's gonna happen."

"He's not safe, Buffy!" Angel called as she walked away.

She ignored him. He wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, but, somehow, she couldn't believe that she was in any danger from Spike. He'd saved her, after all, with his note all those weeks ago, and he'd been ready to take a more active role the other night at the frat house, she was certain. She just didn't know why. And she wanted too. She wanted to figure him out. Besides, she wasn't exactly trying to date Spike. And she could be friends with whoever she wanted. Not that she'd say she and Spike were friends, exactly. But, hey, helpful so far. And not a liability. Buffy figured she'd take as many super strong guys on her side as she could get.

So long as they weren't killing they were alright by her.

* * *

A/N: Looks like the last chapter had some formatting issues. Sadly I don't know how to fix that without deleting the whole chap and replacing, which would get rid of the reviews. So it'll have to stay. Sorry. I tried to look through this chap more carefully, so hopefully it won't have the same issues.

reenas-as


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "Halloween", 2x06, written by Carl Ellsworth and directed by Bruce Seth Green, originally broadcast October 27, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

10.

Halloween was a trip. _Literally_. And not just the taking-kids-around-the-block kind Principal Snyder had planned for her. No, she was talking a blast-from-the-past, evil warlock instigated, mind trip from hell. Apparently evil warlocks didn't abide by the no-evil-on-Halloween rule. Sucky warlocks. And she didn't even get the satisfaction of kicking his evil butt around town because she was stuck thinking she was an eighteenth century lady. Which, apparently, was synonymous with useless because all she could remember doing was screaming and swooning. Fortunately Willow and Giles were on top of things and Xander (and she could not believe it had come to this), _Xander_ kept her safe until she became herself again. Who knew a cheap plastic gun would count as a military costume?

She totally should have gone with a superhero costume. Or maybe Xena, Warrior Princess. And then Willow could have been her Gabriel and she might actually have stayed in her costume instead of wearing that stupid sheet. Although her costume ended up on display anyway when she became an actual ghost. And the ghosting actually turned out to be pretty convenient considering all the badness happening on the streets. At least she wasn't able to get hurt like Buffy was.

She wasn't really sure why she hadn't (worn a superhero costume, that was) except that the dress was pretty and the shop guy was very persuasive. Guess now she knew why. Wouldn't have done the evil warlock any good to have her running around with even _more_ superpowers than she already had. She momentarily wondered if costumed superpowers would have been added to her existing Slayer package or would have replaced them entirely before deciding it was a pointless argument since it didn't happen. And if it had she wouldn't even be thinking about this. It probably would have been bad anyway. Her superhero self wouldn't have known that all the monsters running around were really kids in costumes and she might have hurt some of them.

Giles was being kinda weird about the whole thing – like maybe he was hiding something. Except that Giles didn't usually hide things from her . . . at least she didn't think he did. He was her watcher. It was kinda his job to tell her stuff. Unless it was stuff about him and Ms. Calendar, because . . . old people smoochies – ewww. Still . . . Willow said it seemed like he recognized the name of the guy who owned the costume shop, but when Buffy asked Giles about it he was totally being all avoidy-guy. It was weird.

At any rate, between the costume possession and Cordelia (and she was _never_ going to live that down – clinging to _Cordelia _in fear_)_ and rounding up the kids to get them back to their parents it was an exhausting night. All in all she was super glad her mom had been out of town on a buying trip. She didn't think even her mother's obliviousness could stand up to a town full of kids-turned monsters and she had no idea how she would have begun to explain it.

The actual vampires, fortunately, were a no show. Guess Giles was right about the "dead for the undead" thing. Thank God the Anointed One at least got that right, though she hated knowing the little creep was still lurking around town somewhere – him and his stupid vampire "birth-right". Still, he was keeping his minions in line, she guessed, which had to be a good thing, right? Silver lining at the very least. She didn't know what vampires did when there wasn't a master in town, but she wasn't sure she wanted to find out. Sure they'd be less with the organized plans, but probably more with the random carnage. As it was most of the vamps seemed to be laying low right now.

She didn't even see Spike on Halloween – apparently he was being a good little demon and staying in – but when she went out on patrol the next night she felt him there, following her. Once or twice his distinctive signature had . . . flickered, maybe, but for the most part it was a steady presence always just on the edge of her range. It was so strange how easy it was to track him, because she was usually really lousy at that vampy senses thing – it was something Giles always complained about. If it wasn't Angel or Spike she was clueless. She wondered if it was an Aurelian thing. Or an old thing? A Master Vampire thing?

For the most part she ignored Spike's presence lurking in the shadows, but it was almost comforting to know that he was watching her. Even if he wouldn't step in to help if she needed it (and at this point she kinda suspected that he might) at least there'd be someone to tell her friends and family what had happened to her. Not that that would go over well with her mother who didn't even know she snuck out of the house every night, let alone that she was slaying monsters.

By the end of the week she was tired of the stalk and lurk routine so when she found a quiet moment between stakings she called out to him.

"I know you're there, Spike," was all she said.

A moment later there was a rustling, maybe not even a rustling, maybe just the barest hint of moving air, and he was there, to her left and a few steps behind. She stopped to study him for a moment, but he didn't seem inclined to say anything, or even to look at her really. He just stood there waiting for her to make a move. She wondered what he would do if she suddenly tried to stake him. He'd asked her for it that first night, right? Did he still feel the same? For some reason that thought gave her a twinge, right in the vicinity of her heart. She didn't think that was normal. After a minute or so she gave up puzzling him and the weird sympathy she had for him out and continued her trek toward the next cemetery. Halloween might be a demon holiday, but they were certainly making up for the single-day lull now.

Spike followed her all through patrol and never said a word, only watched her. At least he didn't get in the way, which was more than she could say for her friends sometimes. She shook off the disloyal and somewhat ungrateful thought. Yes, she spent half her time worried about them when they came out on patrol with her, but they were only doing it because they cared. As for Spike . . . she didn't know why he followed her. Boredom? Angel would probably say he was studying her fighting style to use against her later. Giles would definitely say that. But somehow she didn't think so. He just seemed so . . . broken.

She wondered if he followed her because he was lonely.

She'd finally done some digging into his history (prompted, primarily, by her impromptu initiation into the past – stupid warlock and his possessive costumes . . . possessing costumes? Costumes of possession? Whatever – prompted by the fact that her costume had turned her into an eighteenth century damsel in distress) and had learned about his sire and paramour (and that was a funny word, but it was the one the books had used and somehow she couldn't bear to use the word "lover" in conjunction with the vampire and his insane sire), Drusilla, whom he spent the last century serving in utter devotion.

The vampiress didn't seem to be here with him now. Had she abandoned him? Dusted? It must have been something bad if he came all the way to Sunnydale just to find a Slayer to end his misery. Or maybe he'd hoped Angel would do it for him? That would explain why he went to the older vampire's apartment that first night. Angel probably knew, but she couldn't exactly ask him. Especially now that they were most definitely _not_ an item. She'd hardly seen him lately and she felt surprisingly relieved for it.

Anyway, if Spike really had been with the same woman for more than a hundred years he had to miss her. And if he'd actually loved her . . .

According to Giles vampires couldn't love. Angel was different, of course, because he had a soul (not that she thought he was in love with her, they hardly knew one another – though he had dusted his sire for her, which was apparently a big deal in the vampire world), but normal vampires didn't have souls and without a soul they weren't capable of any feeling as positive or selfless as love. But thinking back to her first encounter with Spike she could believe it of him. Only someone who loved deeply could feel so much pain. Emotional pain anyway.

All in all research had been a complete wash. Spike was even more of a mystery to her now than he had been before. All she'd really learned was that Angel without a soul had been majorly bad news, and he'd tried his best to make Spike just like him. For some reason it hadn't seemed to take. Oh, Spike was all about the violence, but he seemed to prefer a good fist fight over a session of rape and torture. She wondered if that was the reason he sought out Slayers – because they were a challenge.

Unless she asked him she supposed she'd never know. She sent him a sideways glance, but decided this probably wasn't the time. They'd only spoken the once and even that had been kind of one-sided. The kind of one-sided where he begged her to dust him and then left in a huff when she couldn't seem to do it. That didn't exactly make them friends. Though she still didn't think they were quite enemies. Well, it didn't seem like he had plans to go anywhere anytime soon; maybe she'd get the chance to ask him later. Though she couldn't imagine any conversation that would offer up a good segue to "so, I hear you kill my kind, care to tell me why?" or even, "Did your crazy lover die, is that why you wanted me to dust you?" Yeah, she really wasn't seeing any way to bring those topics up in casual conversation. Good thing it looked as though she'd have lots of time to work on it.

~.~.~.~

Spike followed after the little slayer, walking on her heel like an obedient dog. He couldn't quite figure why he was doing it except that it seemed silly to continue lurking about in the shadows when she so clearly knew he was there. She didn't seemed worried or upset by his presence either, which probably should sting his pride, but for some unfathomable reason didn't. He was the Slayer of Slayers; he was a right dangerous vamp, part of the bloody Scourge of Europe. He was a threat, someone to be feared. Except that at the moment he really wasn't.

Drinking bagged blood and trailing the Slayer like a lost puppy. Yeah, he was the Big Bad alright.

And yet . . . and yet he couldn't seem to get up the will to do anything evil. Probably just his curiosity. At least Angelus wasn't around to see him. Ponce that the old man had become, what with the bloody soul and all, the blond vamp had a feeling his grandsire still wouldn't hesitate to give him what for if the git knew he was still following the Slayer. She'd probably get an earful too 'f the ponce knew she'd let him. Although maybe he already knew. Seemed a likely catalyst for his little barge n' bluster the other week.

Still, Spike wasn't the kind to be scared off. Did what he wanted when he wanted and if it suited him to tag along after the Slayer he would – and never mind brooding grandsires or even his own misgivings.

He considered speaking to the girl, maybe asking her about recent events. 'Parently there was a bit of commotion on Halloween. He'd not been out and about to see it himself – no self respecting demon lurked about on Halloween, was too obvious – but he heard about it later. Pissed him off to think of some silly human sorcerer sniffing around his slayer. So much so that he'd actually dusted a vamp or two trying to sneak up on the chit the next night. If he wasn't going to snuff her he sure as hell wasn't about to let anyone else. Not a vamp in Sunnydale worthy to lay a fang on her.

He shook the thought off and decided it was best to keep his mouth shut for now. Who knew what would come out of it if that was the sort of thing runnin' about his head. He consoled himself that it was just a phase. He was going through a rough patch, but he'd find himself again eventually and when he did the streets would run red.

Course they would. 'Cause he was bad. Evil. That was just what he did. Curious little slayers who refused to kill him be damned. He didn't owe her anything – had given her a more than fair chance to end him and she hadn't taken it. Was on her own head what he did after.

He walked with her every night after that, to her left and a few steps behind, a constant, silent presence. Always in complete silence, the both of them, each lost in their own thoughts he suspected. Until the night something changed.

* * *

A/N: Alright - for those of you who are getting antsy for the Spuffy action - remember that I did warn in the beginning this was a "melancholy and introspective piece" which means there will always be more thinking than talking. _However, _yes that last line was a hint that the winds they are a changin'. We have left the stalk and lurk portion of the fic and headed into some actual Buffy/Spike interaction. There will be talking very, very soon. In fact, you might soon wish Buffy would talk less (just kidding, I hope). As for Spike . . . well, you'll just have to hang in there. For those who are wondering if all this (semi) angst is worth it I do want to tell you that this story is finished and, yes, it has a Spuffy ending. I don't do unhappy. Life sucks enough without miserable happening in my enterntainment (which is why I will never forgive Joss and emerse myself in fanfic).

-K- I'm done now. Hope that settles any lingering grumblies or concerns. Thanks for reading and if you have time drop a line of review.

reenas-as


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "Lie to Me", 2x07, written and directed by Joss Whedon, originally broadcast November 03, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB  
Television Network.

* * *

11.

Something was going down; Spike could feel it in his bones. His demon was restless. He found his way to the demon bar – the one where he'd spent the majority of his first night in town getting sloshed. Seemed right unusual to him a place like this could do such a booming business what with a slayer in residence, even on the Hellmouth. Supposed it was because she was too young to be hanging about in bars. At any rate he spent a few nights lurking about for any news (after the Slayer'd done with her "patrols", as she called them, of course – wouldn't give up watching that little spitfire in action for anything except maybe to have his dark princess beside him again), but came up short each time. Best he could figure that little wannabe the Annoyin' One was planning something. 'Less it went down while he was patrolling with the Slayer – well, following her on her patrol – he wasn't likely to ever know.

Whatever it was he had faith the girl could handle herself. The boy might be a bit of an annoyance, and the other vamps in town were certainly eager to follow him, but in the end he was nothing more than an over-ambitious fledge; all talk and no action. Spike had half a mind to dust the little wanker himself, just to be rid of his pretentious arse. Spike was the last true Aurelian; this child was nothing but a poser.

Still, he resolved to keep an eye out. The last time the bastard had seen fit to raise his childish head it'd been to seize an unfair advantage over the powerful slayer. Considering he'd lain low ever since if he was on the move again he must have an ace or two up his sleeve. And there was nothing Spike hated more than a cheater – unless that cheater was him.

~.~.~.~

Buffy was overjoyed when Ford showed up at the student lounge in Sunnydale High School. She didn't know how he'd gotten in without that little weasel Snyder kicking up a fuss, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth (whatever _that_ was, and why were all these sayings so gross? Who wanted to look any kind of horse in the mouth . . .). He said something about transferring to Sunnydale High for the rest of his senior year, but honestly she was too busy evaluating their potential for dating to pay much attention. After all, she was the only girl in Sunnydale he knew and he _had _been her big fifth grade crush, and now that she and Angel were pretty much kaput . . . well, it might be nice to try her hand at the dating scene again. Not that she had high hopes. What was that she'd decided about the slayer and being completely unmixy with all things normal?

Too bad she had to be so right. The last thing she expected when Ford joined them all to go dancing that night was for him to later betray her.

And dying of brain cancer? How horrible was that? Not an excuse to turn her over to a bunch of vamps in return for immortality as an evil bloodsucking fiend, but pretty bad. She couldn't help but feel a little responsible for that last. If she hadn't burned down the Hemery gym getting rid of Lothos and his gang Ford probably wouldn't ever have known about vampires. And if she'd managed to track down and dust the Anointed One earlier then maybe he wouldn't have found any vamps quite so willing to take him up on the offer.

She was still totally wigged that there was an entire club filled with stupid humans who practically worshipped vamps. Hello, they lived in _Sunnydale_, did they not know vamps were bad news? People could be so stupid – and not just in the "I'm failing algebra" kind of way. It was crazy. And very, very sad. Almost as sad as one of her best friends, someone she grew up with, someone she trusted and cared about, turning her over to be slaughtered just so he could still end up dead. And the saddest part was that he hadn't realized he'd end up dead no matter how his plan played out.

Being the slayer bit the big one, she decided as she made her way to Shady Rest where the funeral home said Ford was to be buried. Severe neck trauma her ass. Well, she supposed the trauma was severe and on his neck . . . but why couldn't people just admit that there were vampires lurking about?

And speaking of vampires . . .

~.~.~.~

Something had happened to the Slayer, he knew it the moment he laid eyes on her that evening. Something beyond the usual evil shenanigans typical of a town stupid enough to be built over the mouth of hell itself. Not that the town itself had anything to do with the planning, or that a town could be stupid. But the people who'd settled here had to be. But back to the Slayer—

He hadn't seen her the past couple nights, which bothered him more than he cared to admit. He told himself that he was bored, which was becoming his go-to excuse more often than not. But in moments when he was completely honest with himself he had to admit that he was worried. Hard to ignore the flood of relief that washed over him when she stepped into Shady Rest that night.

He didn't ask her about it, though part of him was dying to know where she'd been and why she looked so down. She stared at him, curiosity and sorrow warring behind her eyes, and then she turned and led him deeper into the cemetery. Seemed like she knew where she was going tonight – must have been something about neck trauma in the papers. He followed without comment as usual.

"One of my oldest friends tried to kill me this week," she said without preface and he started, both because she so rarely spoke to him and because of what she'd said. One of her oldest— a _human_? Some puny little human had tried to off his slayer? He had a hard time holding back the growl that longed to escape, hard time not vamping too. He'd tear the wanker's throat out. He'd tear his head off and make his neck his chalice. Except . . . from the look on the girl's face someone had beat him to it. And it hadn't been her.

She looked . . . sad. He had to resist the urge to draw her into his arms and comfort her. What. The. Hell? He pushed that disturbing revelation aside, focusing instead on the Slayer as she kicked a piece of loose rock ahead of her.

"He tried to kill me," she said at length, "and I should hate him for that, but . . . all I can think is that it's all so sad. And now I might have to dust him. I mean, if the Anointed One still honored his side of the bargain even though I got away." She looked up at him in question. "Can little kid vamps even sire people?"

Spike almost choked. This bloke, whoever he was, had _wanted_ to be turned? He was staring to get a picture of the situation and he didn't much like it.

"I guess it wasn't his fault." It was as if she'd read his mind, or maybe it was just the look on his face. He'd always been too expressive for a vampire. Was one of the things Angelus had tried to beat out of him as a fledge. But life was no fun when a bloke was all repressed (as he'd learned when he was alive) and unlife was too long not to experience it full tilt. "He was dying. Brain cancer or something. He wanted to live." She laughed bleakly. "Apparently no one explained to him that being turned just means your body takes on a new boarder once you've vacated the premises."

For a moment Spike wanted to argue with her on that. He might not be the same poncey git he'd been before he was turned, but ol' William was still in there, surfacing at the most inconvenient moments. In the end he decided it wasn't worth it. Girl had been a slayer at least a couple of years now; she'd had the full Council indoctrination he was sure. And he'd no doubt Angel and his soul were more than happy to feed into the lie. He knew the truth though – demon took everyone a little differently. Knew it better than he liked even. He winced at the memory of his first lesson in that.

The Slayer sighed heavily, swinging her arms out in front of her and clasping them as they fell back against her petite frame. He wondered if she realized how that plumped up her bust and drew attention to her nether parts. And did the girl _never_ wear a bra? Not that he was complaining, but it was right distracting. Bad enough she did all those high kicks and favored those short skirts . . .

He chose not to enlighten her. He couldn't decide if he'd rather the reason were so as not to embarrass her or just so that he could continue to enjoy the show. Either way it seemed right soft for a vamp of his reputation. He chose to put that thought aside for the time being as well.

"I'm probably not making much sense, huh?" She hopped up onto a nearby tombstone, sadly depriving him of the lovely view he'd been treated to a moment before, and didn't wait for a response from him. "An old friend of mine came to town this week. I guess he figured out I was the Slayer, probably because he was there when I burned down our old high school gym." He looked at her in shock and she scowled. "There were _vampires_," she said. "I'm not a vandal or an arsonist or whatever. Anyway, he found out he was dying and he decided that if he could offer me to a vampire it might give him some, I don't know, _leverage_."

Spike resisted the urge to comment that obviously cancer wasn't this bloke's only brain issue if that was the first solution that came to mind.

"Anyway," Buffy continued, "I don't even know how he did it, but he managed to track down the Anointed One. And _apparently_ the little twerp was only too happy to take him up on his offer."

Unfair advantage. He'd certainly called that one.

"Ford, that's the guy, my friend, lured me out and they locked me in this club they'd made over with a vault door or something like that. Me and a whole bunch of really stupid people who thought vampires were cool and misunderstood. I only got out because the little brat got cocky and came to get me himself."

Spike quirked a brow.

"I managed to grab him and threatened to stake him unless his stupid, beefy minion opened the door." She looked down at her shoes as her feet swung in the air. "Shoulda staked him anyway the little creep," she muttered.

Damn right she should have. He wasn't sure why she hadn't. Must be a white hat thing. Honor and integrity and all that rot. Times like this made him very glad he was a vampire. Though, to be fair, even he'd been known to honor his word. He'd have turned the little punk as he promised, were he in the Annoying One's tiny shoes. Course, it wouldn't have hurt that turning the git would cause the Slayer even more pain. Considering that he decided the little upstart had probably done it after all.

He smothered the sudden burst of sympathy he felt for the girl. No place for sympathy here. He was a demon, wasn't he? A vile, evil, thing. No call to start feeling sorry for the killer of his kind now was there? Except that he did and he was more than a bit tired of pretending he didn't tonight.

She released another sigh. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I mean, you haven't killed me, and you're all with the stalkery following. Well," she amended with a tiny sad smile, "I suppose it's not so stalkery now that I let you. I mean, openly let you, not just ignore you let you. But, anyway, it's not like any of that means you care, right? You're the Slayer of Slayers or something, aren't you? That's what my watcher says."

She let out another of those bleak laughs that stirred something within him. "He offered to come with me tonight, but I told him no. I wanted to be alone." She looked up at him, and he found he couldn't look away. "Isn't it funny how I can be alone with you and not with him? Probably because I know you won't say anything. You won't, will you? Because I'd hate for the first conversation we have— well, the second I guess it would be, but the first since . . . this." She waved a hand vaguely between them. "I'd hate for it to be you telling me what a sorry idiot I am."

If he'd said anything it'd not have been that. It'd have been something no vampire should ever say to a slayer, he was certain. At least, no vampire without a soul. So he said nothing, only watched her silently, leaning against a tombstone of his own.

"It's just . . . " she stared out into the night, more melancholy than he'd ever seen her, looking like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. He supposed she did. "I know I _should _hate him. It'd be simpler if I could just hate him. I think he wanted me to. I think it made it easier for him to be the villain of the piece. Really he was just scared." She shook her head. "Nothing's ever simple anymore. I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It's just, like, the more I know, the more confused I get." She gave another of those sighs, far too weary for a girl so young. "I guess that's just part of growing up, huh? Sometimes I wish I could just . . . not, you know?" She looked at him. "Well, I guess you kinda do, huh? Sucks."

He couldn't argue with her. He remembered his human life, how much he'd hated it. All about dying and barely scraping by. Seemed it hadn't changed all that much despite all the wondrous advancements of the modern age. He didn't say any of that though, as much because he hated to steal her last remnants of hope as anything else.

They sat in silence in the cemetery together and waited for her friend who might or might not rise. So that she could dust him. For the first time Spike thought how miserable it must be to be the Slayer.

She might almost have been as miserable as him.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Just remembered that fanfiction takes out all URLs so the URL in my disclaimer, stating what site I got my transcripts from, hasn't been showing up. Fixed that for this chap and hopefully I'll remember for future chaps, but I think I got them all from the same site anyway.

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episode "The Dark Age", 2x08, written by Dean Batali and Rob Des Hotel and directed by Bruce Seth Green, originally broadcast November 10, 1997. All direct dialogue is courtesy of , transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

12.

Buffy watched Ms. Calendar walk away from Giles (but not before she'd _shied_ away from his touch, poor guy) with a twinge of sympathy. They'd been doing so well last week. Old people love in full bloom, even if the computer teacher did take the stuffy librarian to a _monster truck rally_ a few weeks back. And even if the thought of old people in love made her feel a little squicky it had been nice to see her Watcher so happy. His job wasn't exactly all roses.

"Hey. Is she okay?" she asked once the computer teacher disappeared up the stairs to her next class. Buffy had study hall this period which meant training with Giles. Today she didn't think she'd mind so much. She'd almost lost him.

Giles stepped out of the flow of students making their way to class and took a place near the wall, looking weary beyond his years. Funny, usually she thought of him as so old, but now, maybe because he actually looked it, she realized he was really only about her mom's age. Which, yes, _old_, but not, like, _ancient._ He was probably barely even forty.

"Um. . . The hills are not alive," he said, as if that made any sort of sense. It didn't, not to her, but the sorrow in his voice did.

Buffy gave him her best sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry to hear that. I think."

"I don't think she'll ever really forgive me. Maybe she shouldn't."

"Maybe you should."

"I never wanted you to see that side of me."

Buffy decided it was best not to pull any punches. "I'm not gonna lie to you. It was scary. I'm so used to you being a grownup, and," she drew a deep breath, "then I find out that you're a person." She was teasing, sort of, but behind every lame joke was a hint of truth, or so they said. In this case it was very true.

"Most grownups are." He hadn't looked at her, not even once.

"Who would've thought?"

Giles pressed on. "Some are even, uh . . . shortsighted, foolish people."

Buffy smiled, moving to stand beside him, leaning against the wall. "So, after all this time, we finally find out that we _do_ have something in common. Which, apart from being a little weird, is kind of okay." She paused, looked away from him into the nearly empty hall. "I think we're supposed to be training right now."

"Yes. Yes. Um, need to concentrate on your flexibility."

"And you know what? I have just the perfect music." She held up her CD. When the anticipated protest didn't come she coaxed him, "Go on, say it. You know you want to."

"It's not music, it's just, uh, meaningless sounds." The words were rote, a fulfillment of her expectations, but he'd said them and that was enough for now.

"There. Feel better?"

Giles actually smiled a little at that. "Yes. Thanks."They headed down the hall and toward the library. As he held the door open for her Giles said, "Bay City Rollers. Now, that's music."She considered cutting him a little slack – he'd had a rough weekend – but in the end couldn't help a little jab. "I didn't hear that."

That night she was eager to get out on patrol. To be honest she was looking forward to seeing Spike; she wanted to tell him all about the crazy mess that was this last weekend. With all the racing around trying to save Giles from being murdered by a body possessing demon she hadn't had a chance to see the blond master vampire in days.

Since that night in front of Ford's grave she'd taken to talking to him as they walked. He never said anything, hardly reacted at all, but he never left either. And wasn't it strange that she enjoyed spending time with the unsouled vamp over Angel who had a soul and who she'd thought she was falling in love with? She supposed it was because Spike was almost, well, he was almost a friend, and Angel had never been that. She hated him and then she loved him. Fine line and all that, she'd rationalized at the time, but now she wondered. Had what she thought she felt for Angel ever been real at all? She didn't know how truly a girl could love someone she'd never really known and Angel had never let her know him.

Seeing Angel Saturday night, well, it wasn't easy. At least he was helpful. Willow figured out that the crazy possessing demon could only take control of the dead or unconscious. Since Ms. Calendar had been the only person who met those qualifications when the last possessed dude melted into a puddle of blue goo that left her the only candidate to continue Ehgyon's revenge. A good choice (or, well, bad really, at least for the rest of them – so maybe she should say a _smart_ choice?), as it turned out, since Giles had taken her home with him. While Buffy was rushing about trying to save both Giles and that dumb Ethan Rayne from the demon wearing Ms. Calendar's skin Willow had the brilliant idea to use Angel to lure the demon out. Willow's theory had been that if they could endanger the host -Ms. Calendar- the demon would jump to the nearest dead body –Angel– and then Angel's demon would kill it. A sort of over-occupancy thing. Apparently the only other option was cutting off Ms. Calendar's head. Fortunately Willow had been right; the demon took the bait and Angel's demon, probably upset after a century without any violence to speak of, sent the hitchhiker back to whatever hell dimension it crawled out of. Or was summoned out of, as the case was.

Absently she touched the mark on the back of her neck. She couldn't feel it with her fingers, especially through the scarf that was going to be her constant companion until she could find somewhere to get the thing removed, but she could _feel_ it. She hated that she let Ethan trick her like that. Knocked her out, tied her up, used her as demon bait. And once she got the stupid tattoo removed she'd have one of those big ugly scars like former marines did. Maybe with Slayer healing the scar would eventually go away?

She tried to talk to him afterward – to Angel that was. It was awkward because she hadn't seen him in ages, not since they had that blowout over who could and could not be in her life. So, yeah, they weren't exactly on speaking terms. But since he'd just saved her life . . . well . . . she tried. She asked where he'd been, but he was evasive. She hated when he did that, got all closed up, like she couldn't handle the truth. Of course, he never really opened up, so it wasn't like it was anything new. Eventually the conversation, if it could even be called that, devolved into another argument about Spike. Did Angel even think about anything else? If she didn't know better she would think he was jealous.

When he implied that they'd all be better off were Spike dust she felt an odd protectiveness surge through her. Which was stupid because: one, Spike was a vampire, she slayed his kind; and two, Spike was a _master_ vampire, he could totally take care of himself. The fact that she'd never seen him fight did nothing to sway her certainty on the matter. Still, she made it very clear to Angel that if he dared to touch Spike he'd answer to her. She was the Slayer, this was _her_ town, and she decided who stuck around and who got dusty. Why she was so adamant that Spike was off the dust list she wasn't sure, but she knew he couldn't go until she figured him out. She and Angel parted ways on less than friendly terms. She doubted she'd be seeing him any time soon.

A rustle from the bushes, no doubt deliberate, alerted her to the fact that Spike had joined her and she faced him with a smile.

"Hey," she said.

He didn't respond, he never did, but she thought he might have almost smiled. He fell into step beside her as she headed toward the abandoned warehouse district. It had been days since she'd gotten in a real patrol; no doubt the undead were taking advantage of her absence to wreak havoc. As they made the trek across town she tried to decide how to start her story. "Hey, my watcher's girlfriend got possessed by a demon and tried to kill him," didn't seem quite right, nor did, "Guess what? My watcher used to be into dark magic, and did you know his nickname is 'Ripper'?" And, wow, learning that Giles hadn't always been a book nerd . . . there went her theory about tweed diapers.

She passed the time rambling about Xander and Cordelia and their antics in the library while they'd been trying to research to help Giles (even though he specifically told her to stay out of it – good thing she didn't or he'd be dead now, probably Jenny too) instead. Not that she actually got around to saying why they were researching. That would have been starting the story she was still at a loss to begin.

"Actually, I was surprised Cordy volunteered to help at all. She's usually not interested if it doesn't directly involve her. Though she almost left when I asked her to help Xander." She rolled her eyes. "I swear, those two are like grade schoolers with a crush, except that they don't have a crush, either of them. They are so totally wrong for one another." She shuddered at the thought of the snarky duo as a romantic pairing. Yeah, too wiggy for words.

She brushed her hair back. "Anyway, she wouldn't have even been there if the two of them didn't have to take a make-up computer class on Saturday. You should have heard Xander complain. I was only there because Giles totally skipped out on the—" Suddenly deciding it might not be best to tell a vamp who was bagging it where he could get a regular supply of packaged human blood she decided to skim over the next bit. "Skipped out on an appointment we had for Friday night and I thought Ms. Calendar –that's the computer teacher and also Giles' girlfriend, sorta– might know what was up."

She looked to her silent companion to see what his reaction to her rambling was (he didn't talk, but he was very expressive) only to find him staring at her neck. She backed up a step because vampire studying her neck? Never of the good. Suddenly he was in front of her and she was forced to a stop. His hand darted past her head, cold skin brushing against her warm flesh, prompting a shiver. It was the first time he'd touched her. He didn't say anything, as usual, just pulled off her scarf and lifted her hair to peer intently at the back of her neck. She was understandably startled, but he didn't make any move to attack her so she stayed still.

Her hand fluttered nervously to match the pulse suddenly racing in her neck. She wondered how he could ignore it – slayer blood so close. Slayer blood was supposed to be special, she thought she remembered having heard. And as the Slayer of Slayers Spike would be the one to know.

She started as his fingers brushed the elaborate symbol Ethan had tattooed on her neck. His gaze met hers expectantly, one brow raised, head titled in obvious question.

Right. Tattoo. Looked as though it was time to tell him that story.

She swallowed, nervous, though not for the reason she probably should be. "Oh, that…" she laughed weakly, resisting the urge to fidget. "There was this guy. Ethan Rayne? I guess Giles – that's my watcher – knew him way back in the day. Anyway he's, like, a chaos mage or something. He was here once before . . . at Halloween." She looked at him expectantly, wondering if he'd heard about all that. His expression was unusually opaque so she decided to explain, just in case. "He opened a costume shop and then cast a spell that made us all turn into our costumes. I was this totally useless chic from, like, 1775. I think I was British. Or maybe southern.

"Anyway he came back again and this demon possessing thing was trying to kill him. Something about a tattoo? So, he was trying to distract the demon, throw it off the scent or whatever, and so he gave _me_ the tattoo too." Only Spike's sudden twitch (his hand was still resting on her shoulder, keeping her hair from falling loose and why didn't she wear more substantial tops when going on patrol? For that matter how had he even known the tattoo was there? The scarf totally covered it – she checked before leaving the house) stopped her from commenting on the oddness of her own phrasing. She looked up at the blond vampire, startled to find that he looked angry. Unconsciously she lifted her hand to cover his reassuringly.

"It's okay," she said, then rethought that. "I mean, it wasn't okay, but it is now. I'm okay." She looked down at herself. "Obviously. But I'm going to have to spend, like, my entire allowance for this month getting the tattoo removed. My mom would totally freak if she saw it. And you'd think the Council would pay for something like that. You know: maiming in the line of duty, or whatever. Or would that be disfigurement? Or maybe Giles. Ethan is his ex-buddy after all. And I guess Giles used to worship this demon thing too, or summon it, whatever. Which is kinda scary. Wouldn't you think he'd get kicked out of watcher school for something like that?"

She tilted her head, raising a finger to her lower lip as she thought. "I guess that's why they don't seem to like him too much, huh? Or maybe they think it's good experience. Takes one to know one kind of thing. Anyway, I hope none of his other 'friends' from his seedy past show up. I mean, it's kinda nice to know that he can take care of himself, one less person I have to worry about, but the people he knew? Not nice. And that Ethan guy got away _again_. Which totally sucks, because he seems to have this _thing_ and you so totally know he's gonna be back and causing more trouble again. God, I hate my life. I hate Giles' life. Couldn't he have had a normal childhood, young-adulthood, whatever? I mean, who worships demons in _college_? Well, outside of the hellmouth, that is. But, really, isn't college stressful enough?" She kicked at the ground. "And the worst part is that now I can't get those shoes I've been saving up for. Stupid demon. Stupid Ethan."

~.~.~.~

Spike had to suppress a chuckle at that. Shoes? Girl almost gets killed by a raving lunatic and that's what she's worried about? And what was all this about watchers who summoned demons? Not that he thought much of the Council of Wankers, bunch of frightened old men sending little girls out to fight their battles for them, whole thing wreaked of some sort of twisted pedophilia if one asked him, but he'd really thought her old man was a bit of alright, far as they went.

She'd taken to talking to him in the last couple of weeks and though most of the time he hadn't a clue what she was on about he had to confess he rather enjoyed her babbling. It made things not so lonely. He'd been so lonely for so long. When he was with her he could forget about Dru, forget about his pain, for a few moments at least. That was why he hadn't killed her, he decided, hadn't baited her to kill him. Once the novelty wore off he'd get back to it. Probably.

She drew in a breath and his whole arm rose with her shoulders.

He was still touching her, he realized. Startled he dropped his hand abruptly. She looked down, as if she only just realized what they'd been doing herself, then back up, her emerald gaze a reflection of the confusion he himself felt. He looked away and she cleared her throat nervously. After a moment they fell into step once more, heading down the street toward an area he knew was chock full of old warehouses. Good place for vamps to lay low, probably get some action tonight. That was good; he liked watching the girl fight.

At least now he knew what went down on Halloween. Liked to have seen that, actually, seemed like a nice bit of excitement. Though maybe not if she'd been as helpless as she said. He frowned. The thought of this slayer being helpless didn't sit well with him at all.

As had become his habit he shrugged the uncomfortable thought away, choosing not to dwell on the unusual feelings this little slip of a thing stirred in him. Was loneliness that was all. Just lonely.

Fortunately the girl started speaking again, providing a distraction from his unwelcome thoughts. "Actually," she said, more subdued now. "I think the worst part is poor Giles. It was kinda scary, you know? Because he's supposed to be the grownup, and then to learn this— but I'm okay. It's him that worries me. His guilt. And Ms. Calendar, his girlfriend. She's totally not okay with it, with _him_, right now."

And there she was, his Slayer. All that goodness wrapped in one tiny super strong package. He didn't know how she did it. Worse, he didn't know why it called to him. She was the antithesis of everything he should want and yet . . . he couldn't look away. Like a bleeding moth to flame, he had to watch himself or he'd be burned right up. He wasn't sure it'd be a bad way to go.

He felt the presence of vamps in a nearby building before the weight of that thought could fully settle and gladly took the out. With a jerk of his head he indicated the Slayer should head inside. Without hesitation she followed his prompting. It still shocked him how much she seemed to trust him, a master vampire, the Slayer of Slayers. He watched her walk in ahead of him, back to him without fear and he felt only intrigue, not a drop of shame.

Maybe she had a bit of the moth in her as well . . .


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to the episodes "What's My Line" parts 1 and 2, 2x09 and 2x10, written by Howard Gordon and Marti Noxon and directed by David Solomon, originally broadcast November 17 and 24, 1997, and "Fool For Love", 5x7, written by Douglas Petrie and directed by Nick Marck, originally broadcast November 14, 2000. All direct dialogue is courtesy of Buffyworld (the website), transcripts provided by Alexander Thompson. I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

* * *

13.

There was another slayer in town, which made bugger all sense because if there was one thing he knew about these Chosen birds was there was only one at a time. Wasn't that what Angelus had told him? One girl snuffs it another one rises. Nothing in there 'bout slayers an' playin' doubles. Singles matches all the way. But there it was: a second slayer. There was no mistaking that feeling. He was going to have to lie low while she was in town, which chafed, but it had to be done. He wasn't afraid of the bint – from what he'd seen of this new girl she was pure text book. Boring that. He'd have ended her in under five minutes, hardly a dance at all – if he'd even found her worth his time, and he didn't think he would have. Of course, what with his unspoken truce with the Slayer there was no occasion to test the theory. Which was why he was keeping a low profile.

From what he'd heard of the bird he figured he wasn't missing much.

Though apparently she'd tried to dust the Great Poof, which he found hilarious. Hadn't been the least repentant once she learned about the soul either, from what Buffy said between complaints about the school's recent career fair. He had to fight a grin. Would've loved to see the old Angelus locked in a storeroom waitin' for the sun to rise. Loved to see if the old boy panicked or if the soul made him want it. Though if the soul had that affect Angelus would have been floating in the breeze long ago, now wouldn't he?

Spike was glad Buffy'd managed to get away from her shadow for a night and tell him the story, even if she didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Not that he let on to her how amused he was. And she seemed right annoyed herself, what with having to go to the Great Git's rescue and all. He had the feeling they weren't getting along so well of late, which made his undead heart soar in ways that nothing involving a slayer ever should – except possibly her death at his hands and her blood in his veins, but that was for considering another day. Right now his slayer was entertaining him.

"And, like, Career Day sucks all over, I'm sure, but mine? Literally from Hell," she complained. She paused to stake the vamp she'd been toying with for the last few minutes. When the fledge was dust she wiped off her hands on her jeans (damn colder weather, he missed those little skirts she'd worn in the fall). "And that was _before_ my 'mentor' tried to kill me."

He paused at that, eyes flying to her slender form almost against his will. What was this about someone trying to kill her? And in the day time. What kind of human was idiot enough to take on a slayer? And this was the third one by his count. Girl was cursed. To his relief she didn't look any worse for wear.

"I mean, there's Willow all excited about her super secret computer whatever, and Xander complaining about being suited for work in 'the growing field of Corrections', and what are my choices? Law Enforcement or Gardening. I should have said no to the shrubs thing." She huffed, crossing her arms in an adorable show of petulance. "Like they can really tell anything about you from those stupid questionnaires. And, _hello_, slayer." She waved a hand. "Not like I'm going to live long enough to have a career."

He growled at that and she looked at him, startled. Eventually she seemed to decide that he'd been growling at the idea that she would soon be dead (and not just that it might not be by his hand), which, to be fair, had some validity.

"Well, I'm not," she said pointedly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. Not with that defeatist attitude she wasn't, stupid girl. Didn't she realize that's what got them all in the end? Not the punches they didn't throw or the kicks they didn't land. No, every slayer . . . had a death wish. One day they woke up and they wanted to be done. He didn't like the thought of her moving down that path already.

"She only did it because that bratty little kid hired them."

He quirked a brow.

"Oh, the Anointed One. He hired the Order of Two Rocks, or whatever, to kill me. One of them was at my career day posing as a police officer." Her head quirked cutely to one side. "Or maybe she really was a police office, though that would give whole new levels of meaning to police corruption . . . and brutality too."

This time his growl was an all out snarl. Was she talking about the Order or Taraka? Bloody wankers! The Order never stopped until their target was dead and they never failed. They had no wants, no scruples, no anything, only their bounty.

"Woah, easy there." She held up her hands as if in defense. "I stopped them. They're dead. Bug dude, Biker guy, and the creepy police lady too. Well, I had some help, but they're gone which is what really matters, right?"

Three? She'd killed three and she thought she was safe? Had her Watcher told her nothing? The Order was enormous, possibly limitless. They'd never stop coming. Not unless someone called them off. He was making a plan before he even realized it, some part of his brain working on it even as he listened to her continued ramblings. He might play the part of the ruffian, but he was a scholar in his day, and while intelligence didn't exactly fit his image he'd never have survived so long without it.

"So, anyway, we stopped the Order. And Kendra – that's the other Slayer – she's going home day after tomorrow I think. It's a good thing too because my mom's coming back and I don't know how understanding she'd be of an unexpected houseguest. She doesn't know about the whole Slayer gig and I'm thinking informing her I've already died once is not the best way to induct her."

Died once? His arm shot out in front of her forcing her to come to a sudden halt. He looked into her eyes intently and then his gaze fell to the marks on her neck. A good whiff had him struggling to resist the urge to growl once more. The Master. Dear old great great grandpapa. But the old bat was dead, Slayer'd killed him. At least that's what he'd heard.

Buffy touched her neck self consciously. "Guess you can smell it, huh? Since you're, like, vampire relatives or whatever." She let out one of those bleak little laughs that caused something inside him to contract uncomfortably. "He didn't drain me. He took a bite, but . . . well, he was in a hurry and . . . I drowned. For a minute. And then Xander gave me CPR and," she spread her arms, "here I am. The slayer, plus one."

~.~.~.~

Buffy hated talking about the Master. So she did what she did best, babbled about something else until they both forgot the subject had ever been broached (was that an actual word, broached? It sounded weird). "Did I tell you Kendra tried to kill me when she showed up? After she locked Angel in that closet. She saw the two of us take out the Biker dude and he vamped so she thought I was his vampy girlfriend or something. I mean, talk about inconvenient timing. I haven't even seen Angel in, like, weeks. He only showed up to warn me about what was going down. And then he goes to beat more information out of Willy the Snitch and—" Spike stiffened and she paused. "Oh, you know Willy then? I just met him this week. I don't like him," she said flatly. And understatement of the year. He'd tried to serve her up to the Anointed One and the Order on a silver platter. She wasn't going to tell that to Spike though. He seemed very upset and, weasel or not, Willy was human. And if Spike started killing humans she'd have to stake him and she didn't want to.

She kinda liked having him around, liked having someone to talk to who didn't judge or even say anything back. It was nice. His growl had startled her though. He always seemed so human and she supposed that a part of her had forgotten that he wasn't. Stupid thing to do, probably, even if she was more and more sure each time their paths crossed that he had no intention of hurting her. He seemed upset enough about the thought of anyone else hurting her (hence the growl). Suddenly it occurred to her that she had never seen him in game face. She was reluctant to ask him about it though as he still hadn't said a single word to her since that first night.

For the most part she'd given up trying to puzzle him out. Everything she'd found in the watcher books was useless, and Angel was completely biased, so unless Spike was inclined to give her some answers himself she'd pretty much run out of sources. And since he was all with the non-verbal cues only . . . well, it just seemed less frustrating not to bother.

She continued speaking without interruption. "I hear he's the go-to guy for all your underworld information needs. I wonder why anyone still goes to his stinky little bar when they all know he can't keep his mouth shut for two minutes. According to Angel any threat or bribe will loosen him right up." She sighed. "Actually, that could probably turn out to be very useful someday." She perked up. "And as the Slayer it'd be irresponsible not to keep an eye on him, right? Just in case." She grinned, imagining regular visits to shake the creep up. Just to make sure he wasn't up to no good, of course. She got the impression his bar was an "alternative" establishment – meaning he served demons more than humans. She could like having an excuse to rough him up on occasion. Bite size pieces of revenge, she thought. Not that she'd ever really hurt him. Slayer here, humans were so outside her jurisdiction.

Spike was watching her and she realized she'd been lost in her own thoughts. "Anyway, Angel lived, or unlived, whatever, and I lived, and Kendra lived, and the Two Rocks guys all died, so all's well that ends well, as they say." A flash of motion in the distance caught her attention. That shirt looked familiar . . . She turned to Spike, grasping his arm and failing to notice the way his eyes jumped down to the point of contact and back up to her face in sudden shock. "Oh, there's Kendra now. I know because she had to borrow my shirt when police lady slashed hers. She only owns one apparently. You'd better go."

It suddenly occurred to her to wonder how Spike had avoided Kendara's take-no-prisoners approach to slaying. She was hardly the type to take time to ask if he was bagging it. Maybe she was too busy with the whole assassins thing to take notice of the run of the mill vamps not in her immediate path? But now that threat was taken care of . . . Something within Buffy rebelled at the thought of the Jamaican slayer touching Spike. "In fact, now that there's not so much around to distract her you should probably stay out of sight until she goes home. Not so good with gray areas our new slayer. See you in a couple days?"

Spike nodded without protest, though he seemed a little dazed. Babble overload maybe? Or maybe being in the vicinity of two slayers overwhelmed him. Like how strong her tinglies were when Angel and Spike were in the same general vicinity. Anyway, he turned and stalked off into a convenient patch of woods and Buffy pasted a smile on her face before jogging in the opposite direction to intercept Kendra.

"So," she greeted her mystical twin cheerily, "up for a regular old patrol before you head back to the land of the Rastafarians? It'll probably be kind of a let down after the assassins and everything, but it passes the time." If Kendra noticed how carefully her sister slayer was leading her back the way she'd come she didn't comment.

~.~.~.~

Spike left their encounter in a boiling rage, though he'd managed to keep Buffy from catching on. He'd put an end to this. No bounty to collect if the bounty layer was dead and dust, yeah? So all he had to do was get rid of the Annoying One and he was golden. As usual he ignored the implication of the Slayer's importance to him, focusing instead on the insult he felt. The upstart would wish he'd never been turned, never been born even. He'd drive the stake in a millimeter at a time. He'd tie him out in the street and make him wait for sunrise. No. He'd dust the little bugger one appendage at a time, starting with his fingers and toes. Shoulda done it months ago, but it hadn't seemed worth his time.

Fortunately the girl had told him just where to go for his info, even if she didn't know it.

Willy cringed as Spike slammed him up against the wall of _The Alibi Room_.

"Tell me where he is you whingey git," the master vampire demanded.

"Spike, buddy, I don't know what you're talking about. You know I wouldn't hold out on you."

Spike gave the man a shake, not anywhere near in the mood tonight for the snitch's games. "You tell me where that little brat is holing up or I'll send you with him to Hell."

Willy gulped, sweat pouring off his brow. Once the smell of sweat and fear would've made Spike's mouth water, now it only made him sick. If it weren't for the murderous rage pouring through him he might have feared the Slayer'd made him go soft.

"I-I," the little man stammered, "he doesn't come in here, you know? But, uh," he hastened on as Spike growled menacingly, fist tightening in the fabric of the man's collar, "his minions, they do sometimes. I try not to listen, but I hear things, you know?"

"Where. Is. He?" Spike forced the words out through grit teeth.

"The old Factory, he's in the old factory. Don't hurt me!" Willy cringed as best he could while being held six inches off the floor by an angry vampire.

"'Ve been to the old warehouse district, Willy, he's not there." Been there with the Slayer regularly; if that was where the brat was hiding they'd have found him by now. He cocked a fist back, nearly choking Willy as he fisted both sides of his collar in one hand.

Willy raised his hands defensively, for all the good it would have done him. It wasn't Willy's pleading holding Spike back anyway. "It's not in the warehouse district. It's on the north end of town. Over near the wharf. I swear it!"

Spike thrust the little man away with a snarl. "If I find out you've lied to me Willy…" he warned

"I'm not lying. I swear it on my life."

"Yeah, you do."

It took him the better part of the night to track down the place Willy was talking about, but once he arrived he was not disappointed. The Annoyin' One and his whole merry band were all there, just come in from the night's hunt. Spike strode in with a wicked grin and a dark gleam in his eye. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Most of the minions were dead before they knew what hit them, though he took great pleasure in prolonging the suffering of the hulking body guard who had first "summoned" him to his "Master's" side. The child himself Spike had something special in mind for. He threw the boy into a convenient cage (God bless fish canneries), hoisted him into the air and watched the first rays of sun leaking through the high windows turn him to ash.

Made Spike's demon near howl in approval, that did, listening to the git's whimpers.

He left a single minion alive, a nerdy looking bloke who he wagered knew a thing or two about the goings on of the organization, and that only because he had a task for the ponce.

"You make sure the Order knows there's no bounty to be had on the Slayer," he ordered, finger pointed at the vamp, and the little minion nodded emphatically, cringing in the corner all the while. "Good. 'Cause if you don't the next thing that dies in Sunnydale will be you."

The minion was still bobbing his head and trying to tuck himself through the corner wall when Spike left. Spike made his way back to his crypt through the sewers, feeling more like himself than he had in ages, it seemed. As he lay down to sleep for the day he tried to sort out why that was. The violence he supposed, but also . . . it felt good to protect someone again, even if it was the Slayer. She was his, for whatever reason, and he'd defended his claim today.

He couldn't say why it had been so important, really. Slayer was a big girl; she could take care of herself. He supposed it was just the thought of that little brat trying to take down that glorious creature without even a fair fight . . . Gave proper Slayer killers (and that'd be just him) a bad name, the boy did. Spike would've taken out the snitch too if he didn't know the Slayer'd put him down for it. He could read between the lines, he knew what she wasn't saying; the little weasel had given her up to the brat, as Buffy was so fond of calling him. Lacked the subtle mockery of his own favorite moniker for the boy, but he found it was growing on him.

So Willy got a free pass, for now. Didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy scaring the piss outta the rat on a regular basis. Maybe when he stopped in for a drink. Since he'd been bagging it he'd tried not to sample Willy's more exotic wares. Taste of human blood in a glass just whet his appetite for more and there wasn't more to be had if he wanted to stay undusty. Not unless he wanted to leave town, and it'd be a shame to leave now when he'd only just cleared out the trash. So none of the good stuff for him. But the next time he stopped in for a bottle of Jack? He grinned wickedly. Oh, yeah, Willy was going to be sorry he'd ever _heard_ of the Annoying One. He'd be sorry about it for a very long time.

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A/N: It's coming . . . can you sense it? ^_^


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All recognizable characters, dialogue, plot points, settings, etc. are copywrite Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Television, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the WB Television Network.

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14.

In the three whole days since anyone had last tried to kill her (well, anyone besides the normal nightly vamps) Buffy had pretty much abandoned the maybe-almost plan she had made when Kendra was in town to leave slaying behind and live a normal life. Kendra kind of had a point about that whole slaying being who she was not just a job thing. It wasn't like the vamps were gonna leave her alone just because she decided to retire from slaying. She kinda learned that the hard way the previous fall.

Besides, normal? Probably overrated. Buffy tried to imagine being a regular girl, going to cheer practice after school and the mall on Friday nights and never thinking about the things that went bump in the night unless those things were her and a cute guy. It all seemed very nice and safe and . . . Cordelia-like. She grimaced. Who was she kidding? She didn't want a normal life; she wasn't normal. Normal was boring. Besides, if she had a normal life she never would have made these great friends. She'd never have met Willow or Xander or Giles. She'd never have met Spike.

And that was so being filed away for later thought.

But, hey, one good thing had come out of the whole crazy Career Day/ Assassination attempts mess (aside from her useful epiphany, that was): Willow met a really nice guy; and it looked like it might be an actual _something_. That would be good for the shy teen. And, bonus, he'd already proven his willingness to risk his life for her, a definite plus in Sunnydale. Actually, the guy, Oz, Buffy thought his name was, seemed kind of familiar – though not with brown hair. She thought he might play in one of the bands that were occasionally featured at _the_ _Bronze_.

Buffy made her way to the Library after school. They were having a big Scooby (that was Xander's latest nickname for them – much better than "the Slayerettes", which sounded like a lame rock group from the 60s) meeting today to decide what to do about the Anointed One. The little runt had far overstayed his welcome. Buffy hoped the meeting went quickly. Her mom was home from her buying trip (and hadn't it been convenient that she'd been gone while the Order had been running amok and Xander and Cordelia had been hiding from Bug Guy in her basement), and was apparently feeling guilty. She was all about "quality time". Family dinner, the whole works.

Cordelia was waiting in the library when Buffy got there. Weird how the cheerleader was hanging around more than usual. Buffy thought Bug Man would have scared her off for good. Even weirder: she and Xander didn't seem to be fighting so much lately. Or, well, they were, but somehow it felt different.

"Ah, Buffy," Giles emerged from his office, a book (predictably) in his hand, to greet her. "Good of you to join us."

Buffy looked around the nearly empty library pointedly. "Us, Giles? It's just you and Cordelia."

"Hey!" the brunette protested, clearly offended. "I qualify as an 'us'. Well, I mean, me and Giles qualify as an 'us'. Except not." She grimaced. "You know what, never mind, forget I said anything." She returned to studying her nails.

Buffy, who usually preferred to forget about Cordelia all together, shrugged and happily complied. "So, Giles, what's the what? Where is everybody? I thought we were making with the planny plans today?"

"Yes, well, I'm sure they are on their way."

Buffy's reply was forestalled by the library doors swinging dramatically open.

"The Xan-man has arrived," Xander pronounced dramatically, then faltered as he saw Cordelia at the research table.

"And me," Willow piped up behind him, saving him the embarrassment of any questions. "So, are we ready to track down the Anointed One and make him into itty bitty bits of dust?" She looked around at the others, suddenly apologetic. "Or, you know, ready for Buffy to make him into itty bitty bits of dust. 'Cause, she's the Slayer. And we're not."

Willow was just too cute sometimes.

"Appreciate the enthusiasm, Wills," Buffy said.

Smiling, Willow took a seat at the research table. "I like to help."

'Yes," Giles said, "and we're quite grateful. Now, does anyone have any thoughts as to how we might go about locating a vampire child who has no intention of being caught?"

"Seriously, it's like some sick game of whack-a-mole," Xander complained, "and I for one am getting _pretty_ tired of it."

"Yes, thank you," Giles frowned at Xander's usual colorful imagery. "I'm sure we all are."

"So," Willow prompted, "the Anointed One?"

"The Anointed One is dust." Angel strode in through the stacks, no doubt having come up through the basement and in the back door as usual. "Minions too."

"Ooo!" Willow sat up perkily. "Did you do it? Because, you know, if so, yay you."

Giles' frown deepened, causing a vertical furrow between his eyebrows. Distracted, Buffy reached a hand up to her forehead, deliberately frowning. Huh, no little line. Maybe it was a boy thing?

Angel ignored Willow's question, focusing instead on Buffy and Giles. "I checked through my contacts and the contract with the Order of Taraka has been cancelled too. They won't be coming after Buffy anymore."

That startled Buffy back into the conversation. "Anymore? Wait, you mean there are more of them?" She looked to Giles expectantly. No one had said anything about more super-assassins. Or did she miss that part? She was kind of busy being annoyed at Kendra at the time. And, well, she never really paid attention when Giles talked anyway. Books equaled boring. Just tell her what to kill and how and she was happy.

Giles sighed, lifting his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. And why was that called a bridge, exactly? Darn it, now that was going to bother her all day. For the moment though she tried to focus on Giles.

"That is why they are called an order, Buffy, and not a trio," her Watcher said wearily.

Buffy turned away with a pout. No need to get all sarcastic about it. Sarcasm was Cordelia's department.

"I believe the real question here," Giles began, ignoring a perfectly good sulk, "is who could possibly have taken care of both the Anointed One and his followers, and the contract with the Order." He looked to Angel and despite herself Buffy found her head turning that way as well. "I assume that if you had done it no 'contacts' would have been required."

Willow seemed to deflate at that thought. "So, no Angel making dusties?" she asked quietly.

Angel looked away uncomfortably. "No. It wasn't me."

"And who then was it?" Giles pressed. "I assume from your resolute refusal to look any of us in the eye that you know."

Angel scowled down at his shoes and muttered something too low for even Buffy's slayer hearing to catch.

"What was that?" Giles asked.

"It was Spike."

"Spike, good Lord!"

Belatedly Buffy realized that she may have, sort of, accidentally, forgotten to tell Giles that Spike was still in town. Oopsie?

"Did you know this, Buffy?"

Buffy flushed as her Watcher turned reproachful eyes on her, noting that across the room Willow was doing the same.

"Spike is here and he's not dust?" Xander yelped from across the room.

Behind him Angel was glowering, and Buffy knew he was itching to begin yet another lecture. She didn't give him the chance.

"Yes!" she shouted, feeling overwhelmed. Why were they ganging up on her like this? For that matter, why were they treating this like a committee decision? Last time she'd checked the musty old book said Chosen One, not Chosen Group or Chosen Committee even Chosen Council of Watchers. And, okay, maybe it was more like the Chosen Two now, but still . . . Vampires were her jurisdiction, not theirs, and she was handling it. "Yes, Spike is still here. And no one," she glared at Xander, "is going to dust him. It's okay. He's not a threat."

"Not a threat?" Giles blustered. "He is the Slayer of Slayers, one-fourth of the Scourge of Europe, of course he is a threat."

"No, he isnt'!" Buffy turned to the man, the vampire, she once thought she might be falling in love with. "Angel, tell him," she demanded, hoping the soul would give him incentive to be honest with them.

All eyes flew to the master vampire as though magnetized.

Angel shuffled his feet, glowering at the floor, but at length he admitted, "He's bagging it. He hasn't killed anyone since he got into town." Angel looked at Buffy pointedly. "That doesn't mean he's safe."

"Well, that's it then." Xander pushed to his feet. "All in favor of slaying the psychotic serial killer say 'aye'." He raised his hand and looked around the room only to find that everyone else's attention was riveted to the vampire and the Slayer. "Hello?" he asked. He slowly sank back into his seat as it became obvious he wasn't going to get a response.

"Spike is mine," Buffy said, forgoing the predictable argument in favor of the bottom line. The statement was for everyone in the room, but especially the vampire she'd already had this conversation with twice. "He did us a favor – twice, actually – so everybody just lay off."

Angel's eyes narrowed, but she refused to back down. She wasn't some little kid he could push around – she was the Slayer.

"We'll, just, hrmm . . . leave you two alone then." Giles herded the rest of the teenagers out of the room quietly, though not before shooting her a questing glance, and soon Buffy and Angel were alone. She knew Giles would still have more to say to her, but for now she was grateful to be allowed to fight her battles one opponent at a time.

The vampire took a step closer to her.

"Buffy, he's a soulless killer. It doesn't matter if he's decided that you're interesting right now. As soon as he gets bored he'll slaughter you and this town."

"I can take care of myself," Buffy said primly.

"That isn't the issue."

"Sure seems like it to me." She huffed a sigh, gaze darting to the door. This was getting nowhere fast, which shouldn't have surprised her considering it was _the third time _they'd had this same conversation. Obviously he wasn't going to listen to her and she had more important things to do. "You know what? I don't have time for this. I'm out." She made to stalk past him and he grabbed for her arm. She shrugged him off angrily, head whipping around to level him a deadly glare.

He stepped back.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To patrol," she bit out tersely. "Slayer, remember? She who hangs out in cemeteries? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I'll come with you."

"No!" Her vehemence surprised even Buffy, but she didn't back down. "No," she said more calmly. "I'm fine on my own." But she wouldn't be alone. Spike would be there, and boy did she have some questions for him. She was going to get some answers, too, whether he liked it or not. She couldn't tell Angel that though. She turned, forcing a perky smile. "I'm sure you have better things to do. Places to lurk and all. And, hey, with the little brat gone things should be pretty quiet, you know? At least until the next Apocalypse starts gearing up. I'm sure you'd be bored."

He seemed to have nothing to say to that and she continued toward the door, stopping just short of it and turning her head slightly over her shoulder toward him. "Would you even have told us if Giles hadn't asked? That it was Spike, I mean?" Angel gave no answer, only looked down at his feet. "That's what I thought," she said, disappointed, even though she'd expected as much.

He brought his head up, clenched his teeth before speaking, a muscle ticking along his jaw. "He probably only did it to take the kid's place. To set himself up as the Master of Sunnydale."

She snorted, throwing him a _look_. "Which is why he dusted all the minions too? Give it up Angel. We both know Spike has no interest in making trouble in my town."

Angel's eyes narrowed at her in suspicion. "And why is that, do you think?"

Buffy shifted uncomfortably, though she had no idea why. She didn't have to answer to Angel, even if he did think he was her protector. And it wasn't as though she had an answer anyway. Which was why she needed to get out of here and interrogate Spike. "You'd have a better idea than I would," she managed flippantly, "I hardly know the guy."

And then she was pushing through the doors, leaving a suspicious and morose vampire staring after her.

~.~.~.~

Spike prowled through Restfield waiting for the Slayer to make her appearance. What was taking her so long? He knew this was her night to start at this end of town.

"Bloody, buggering—" Patience was not his forte. He was just considering heading off in search of the girl when he smelled her distinctive scent on the breeze. A moment later he saw her ambling through the yard. Ah, there she was, his Slayer.

For once he felt not even the slightest twinge of discomfort at the proprietary thought. Saved her life, hadn't her? Twice now. Killed his own kind for her. She was his – one way or another.

"Hey," she greeted, and he gave her a bit of a nod back. She seemed unusually cheerful tonight. Glad to be back at her own paces, he'd wager. They walked in silence for a time, her shooting little sideways glances at him all the while until he thought he'd go barmy. Finally, when he thought he could take it no longer, she spoke.

"So, I heard something interesting today. Care to guess what it was?"

As if he had a bleeding clue what the girl might find interesting? New Boy Band? Sale at the mall?

She seemed to be expecting some sort of reply though so he just shook his head and raised a questioning brow.

He thought he saw her lips twitch, but he might have imagined that.

"Angel told me that someone dusted the Anointed One and all his minions."

It took everything within Spike not to freeze at that. Bloody, buggering, _fuck. _Well, she was bound to find out sooner or late, yeah? Would've preferred it had been later, possibly after he managed to sort it all in his own head, but it couldn't be helped now.

The Slayer continued as though she didn't notice his sudden fit. "The most interesting part of the whole thing was who his sources told him did it." She cast him a sly little glance. "Apparently word around town is that it was you."

He refused to respond, walking as nonchalantly as possible beside her.

"Angel is pretty suspicious. He thinks you're setting yourself up to be the next Master of Sunnydale."

Spike couldn't help but snort at that. He had no intention of become the new Master of Sunnyhell. Couldn't be anything he wanted less. Point of fact unlife had been something of a hassle these last few days, what with all the lone vamps coming to pay their respects. He'd half a mind to tell them to get out of town except it would make them suspicious and if they thought he was weak they might gang up on him. Not that he was worried they could best him, no matter how many they gathered up, but it would be a right pain in the arse to always be watching his back.

"I don't think so though," she said.

Spike looked to her in surprise, noticing for the first time how her hands were clasped casually behind her back and her steps had a slight spring to them.

"You know why not?" she asked. He shook his head and she smiled. God, that smile was like the sun – not that he'd seen the sun in near a hundred and twenty years. "Because you've never given me any reason not to trust you."

Bloody _hell_. Never . . . oh, somewhere within him his demon gave a last, dying, cry of protest. She should be running from him, screaming in terror, or at least getting prepared to fight. The feeling only lasted a moment before dying away and he shrugged. Girl was right. Saved her life twice now, no use pretending he had any plans to end her. Wasn't going to think about why that was.

"And because if you were setting up to betray me you wouldn't have called off the Order of Taraka."

This earned her another look of shock, as much because she'd gotten the name right as for the statement itself.

Her expression was soft, her voice its equal. "If you'd wanted me dead you'd have just let them fulfill the contract." Her hand reached to tentatively brush against his. "Thank you," she whispered.

The demon didn't even bother to protest. What would be the point? He nodded his acknowledgement of her thanks.

She stopped walking.

Bollocks. What now?

"There is something I want to know though," she said, turning to face him squarely. To prevent his escape? He waited, face an impassive mask. "I won't ask why you saved me, but . . . I would like to know why you stay. Why you've been following me." Her gaze bore uncomfortably into his, all innocence and curiosity. "Why do you follow me?"

And she expected an answer. They'd not spoken – well, _he'd_ not spoken – since the first time they met, and now she expected him to start with this?

He didn't know why he followed her. Why he stayed. If Dru were with him they'd be long gone by now. He'd have killed the girl in a blaze of glory, or he'd have ignored her, and either way they'd be gone. With a start he realized he'd not thought about Dru in days, maybe weeks – not more than a passing consideration. When had she become so far from his thoughts? She wasn't far from his heart – he refused to believe it.

His gaze fell helplessly to the little slayer staring at him expectantly. She was so much more alive, more real, than any memory of his sire he could call up. And maybe that was why he stayed, why he needed to be near her, because she made him feel more alive than he could ever recall feeling. She didn't just make him not numb, she made him _feel_.

How wrong was that?

Uncomfortable with his revelation (and he couldn't exactly tell her _that_ now could he) he narrowed his gaze at her. "Don't rightly know," he said instead. "Suspect I'm bored. It'll pass."

She only stared at him, gaze far too knowing for someone so young. For someone he'd hardly even spoken too, even if he had spent hours on end with her over the last couple of months. He rolled his shoulders, scowled a little for good measure. "'S a free country," he snapped.

Her lips twitched again – and this time he knew he hadn't imagined it – the beginnings of a smile she barely managed to suppress. He scowled.

After a moment she resumed her patrol, walking through the cemetery at an unhurried pace. He shoved his hands into his pockets and refused to say another word all evening. He just trailed behind her in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

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A/N: Sorry this is a day late. Last minute costume shopping and prep yesterday (for my cousin and her daughter).

So . . . Spike spoke, finally, and it was a little anti-climatic, I know, but from the next chapter things really pick up - banter-wise and relationship-wise. No, we're not having a whirlwind romance. There are other kinds of relationships you know ^_^


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